


The Warrior and his Shadow

by iezzern



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOWAR rewrite, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Feelings, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not tagging either Nesta or Elain bc this fic is kinda bashing em, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Insert Bill Wurtz: How did this happen?, M/M, Rewrite, Slow Burn, not a nesta positive space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 15:19:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 75,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16895064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iezzern/pseuds/iezzern
Summary: After what happens in Hybern, Azriel is left wounded and with his old, forgotten feelings blossoming again.While he tries to recover, a war is raging around them; and there's no stopping it.ACOWAR Rewrite





	1. Brother Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you for clicking in on my work!  
> I don't really know if I can do regular updates, but I will try; I already have the entire plot planned out.  
> I want to say that I, in no way, can write Sarah's story better than her, I just try to reimagine it. I just really wanted to put these two together, because I love them together.  
> FYI if you like Nesta, you probably won't like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight TW for Abuse/implied sexual abuse for some parts of the chapter. I've placed {--TW--} before and after that part, so if you don't want to read it you don't have to.

Among the dark spots in his vision and the shadows shouting warnings in his ears, he can only feel pain. The faebane is surging through his veins and choking him from the inside out. Each raspy breath he takes makes his lungs and throat burn. His shadows are screaming and reeling, disorientating him even more. He’s on the ground, his weakened body leaking blood everywhere.

The king is speaking, and his shadows are screaming _dangerdangerdanger_ , but his body won’t move; paralyzed by the faebane. He hasn’t hurt this much since…since…Feyre’s scream rips through his train of thought. He stirs, blindly reaching out for her. His sister is hurting, and he can’t help, but he has to because he won’t be like his demons, he _won’t, he won’t, he won’t._ His shadows provide a weak outline of Mor at his side, and Rhys….and Feyre…and…

“Cass,” he mutters, but his words come out only as a mumble, “Cass”

Mor is there, holding at his wounds…but Cass…Cassian

He twitches his fingers, opens his eyes slightly…They’re screaming and yelling…cold, so cold…

There’s a bright light, loud noises, and power… _so much wild and pure destructive power_ heading straight for his unprotected body. Move—he has to move. His shadows are screaming again, hiding at his collar and pulling back and it’s _so bright_. The power is already burning at his edges and ripping his shadows away. He feels almost naked; the familiar feeling of his shadows being replaced by freezing, alien air…and then…then…he feels Cassian’s warm, strong arms go around him, pulling him snug against the latter’s wide chest. He’s safely tucked in and he can only register Cassian’s body and warmth.

Only when Cassian cries out in pain, does Azriel realize that his wings are flared wide and _he can see the King’s magic ripping through them and turning them to tatters._ He raises a hand, reaching for Cassian’s wings; his, beautiful, _beautiful_ wings. _No,_ Cassian loved his wings, adored them. The strongest in Windhaven; in the entire night court. Azriel has had the privilege of touching them; of running his fingers down that strong membrane. Cassian _can’t_ lose them. His own wings spark in pain, as well, and his hand falls to clutch at Cassian’s bicep. Cassian’s lips are moving, but there’s only a ringing in Azriel’s ears and he _can’t hear_. He tries to read Cassian’s lip movements, but his vision is blurry, and blood is slipping into his eyes.

When his consciousness returns, there is screaming again, not Feyre, this time. _Her sisters_.

Cassian is struggling above him; reacting to Nesta’s shrill screams. His shadows tell him of a newly made fae, shivering on the floor before him. His mind is too jumbled for him to really set himself into it. “Cass,” he mumbles, but blood has filled his mouth and it nearly chokes him. He slips in and out of consciousness…but…He startles, half-awake, because something is wrong. It’s Rhys…and Feyre…his mind is going too slow for him to understand what is going on around him, but Feyre…Feyre feels so, so distant…and Rhys…

.

.

Rhys is… _The wards_ , his shadows yell in his ears, _they’re gone._ And he finds they’re right and he wants to scream, but he can’t. He can’t _tell them,_ and his shadows are panicking as well, screaming in the ears of the people who can’t hear them. Azriel’s head splits, trying to get his mouth to work and shut his shadows up. He searches for Rhys, but his shadows are too ruffled to actually be of use.

And then they’re out of there.

And Azriel’s gone again.

 

-:-

 

{--TW--}

 

There’s darkness. Only darkness. It’s a darkness he knows well. It’s the darkness he was raised in; the darkness his shadows were born in. His chest tightens and his breath speeds up. There’s cold, slippery cobblestone underneath him, where he’s sitting. A stripe of light spews forward as a door is opened. And there they are; cruel smiles painted on their faces. He scrambles backwards, but his wings won’t work, and his body isn’t his anymore. It’s the one of a scared, malnourished ten-year-old who hasn’t even learned to fly. “Please,” he whimpers, and his voice is small and raspy, “Stay away”

A laugh. He can’t tell from which of them. They come for him. The older one grabs his face, tugs Azriel up on his knees and forces his own mouth upon Azriel’s. The other one comes up behind him, an unusually soft caress over his hip. It’s just a pretence, though, because his hips are bruised from the last time they were here. Azriel sobs. They haven’t… _entered_ him during their “playtimes”, yet, but he knows, _he knows_ that they’ll get there—once they dare.

He starts fighting, struggling against them. They won’t move. The one behind him grabs onto his left wing and a shiver forces itself down Azriel’s spine. This time, they both laugh. “Slut,” the older hisses, and Azriel wishes he knows what that word means. They say it often, and their venomous tone doesn’t hide the feeling behind it, but it’s a power-play. They know he doesn’t know what it means, and he won’t give them the satisfaction of asking. The older leans down again, ignoring Azriel’s tear-soaked cheeks, the other fits himself along his back and grips at his hips, and then a third person lays a hand on his shoulder and _shakes_.

 

{--TW--}

 

Azriel cries out as he shoots up from his sweat-soaked bed and straight into Rhysand’s waiting embrace. His shadows are immediately at his ears, whimpering. _We thought you’d die_ , they whisper, and it echoes: _Die, die, die, die_. They start filling him in, but he tunes them out and clutches onto his brother, breaking down on his shoulder.

Tears are streaming down his face and he’s heaving for air, desperate. Rhysand just holds him close, his fingers softly threading through his hair. When he breathes in Rhysand’s strong scent, all trace of fear and anger evaporates. His brother is here, and the monsters are gone. “Rhys,” he whimpers, and he _hates_ how weak he sounds. He’s built his new life around the control he has. And now it’s slipping through his fingers and spilling into Rhys’s bare hands. “It’s okay, Az,” he says, “I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you, Brother Mine”

Those words. They dig themselves into Azriel’s mind and eases the panic that has ravaged his brain. Cass and Rhys used to whisper them to him when he woke from nightmares when they’d lived in Windhaven and he was used to falling asleep with Cassian’s chest against his and Rhysand at his back. So Azriel draws back and leans his forehead against Rhys’s. He starts whispering softly and he sees Rhys’s lips twitch. “I will always be yours, Brother Dear, no matter what,” he answers. They smile at one another, and, little by little, Azriel’s breath slows. But by then, his shadows have stopped searching. His smile falls. There’s five of them… _only five_.

 _Feyre_.

“Where is she?”

Rhys’s smile falls; his grip on Azriel tightening. “ _Where is she?_ ” Azriel presses on. Rhys swallows. “The Spring Court”

Shadows explode around them, lining the room with darkness. _The Spring Court_ ; Feyre, his friend, his _family_. He doesn’t even remember her disappearing. He remembers the warmth when he gripped her after her episode with the cauldron; how her eyes held such relief when she’d seen him standing there. His _sister_. _And she’s gone_.

Rhys flinches away.

Azriel’s eyes flick back to his brother and he sees himself reflected in Rhys’s eyes; his own eyes, wide with fear and his own hopeless, despairing expression. He’d vowed to never hurt his brother; to not be like them. He shoves himself backwards, gathering himself in the corner of his bed furthest away from Rhysand. He can’t believe he… “No, Az,” Rhys’s voice is rough, “No, you’ll never be like them; not those monsters, you’re better than them, so much better”

Rhys holds out his hands and tugs Azriel into his chest. “Feyre chose to leave,” he says, “She’s there and sacrificing everything for us; we shouldn’t destroy what she’s fighting so hard to protect. Hold strong Az, you owe your High Lady that much”

Azriel slowly looks up at his High Lord. “Lady?” he asks and Rhys nods; such pride in his eyes. His High Lady… a Lady of the Night Court. A Lady of power, dreams and hope. Yes, the title fit Feyre. A break of tradition to break a tradition. Azriel gives a small laugh and leans in to kiss Rhys’s cheek. “You were always ahead of your time,” he says, and Rhys gives a small punch to his shoulder.

They’re usually never like this around others. Not even their girls. It was something that’d festered during their time in Windhaven. Something so ancient and intimate that others shouldn’t invade on it. They were brothers long before the family was formed. _Brothers_.

“Cassian,” Azriel whispers, “By the Mother, what happened to…” “He’ll live,” Rhys says, his shoulders slumping. “Live?” It all comes crashing down on him. His beautiful, _beautiful_ wings. He’s moving before he knows it, shoving himself out of bed. But he’s not strong enough, yet, and his feet give out beneath him. Rhys catches him just in time. “You should rest,” Rhys snaps hurriedly, but Azriel won’t listen, “Take me to him”

Rhys seems to know that there’s no use arguing, so he wraps a hand around Azriel’s waist and helps him to Cass’s room. “He hasn’t woken yet,” Rhys mutters as he shoves the door open, “Be gentle, his wings are…fragile”

Azriel swallows and nudges Rhys; they start moving again. The curtains are drawn back, letting the lights from Velaris spill in. It’s night-time. He pays it no mind. Azriel falls down at Cass’s side, eyes tearing up. His wings are tightly bandaged, small, dark spots of blood visible on the otherwise pristine white. His breathing is heavy, his skin sickly and pale. Eyes still closed. “Have you fed him?” Azriel asks as he runs his fingers over Cass’s wings. “As much as we’ve been able to,” Rhys answers, laying a hand between Azriel’s shoulder blades.

Az gets to work. He unties the bandages, letting them fall on the bedding beside him. One by one, they uncover his wings. Rhys draws in a sharp breath behind him. Azriel runs his fingers down the uncovered membrane; clotted blood and open veins meet his fingertips. He swallows. Ruined. They’re ruined. “It doesn’t look good, I know, but…” Rhysand can’t get more out before he turns away, a hand over his mouth. Even if he tries to hide it, Az can smell the salty scent of his tears.

He lays his head on Cass’s collarbone and lets his own sobs echo through his chest.

They stay there well into the night, watching over their brother. Rhys changes Cass’s bandages, and then does the same with Az’s. He presses a kiss to Azriel’s forehead when he’s finished. Azriel can’t remember falling asleep, but when he wakes, he’s curled up to Cass’s side, a blanket laid over him. The noises that woke him sound again, and he raises his head. Rhys is fast asleep in a chair by the bed, Amren scuttering around him, picking up bandages and jars of medicine.

Azriel opens his mouth, but nothing comes out; his throat is too dry. Still, Amren turns to him. She stares at him before she hurries forward and forces his head down again. “Sleep.” Her voice is sharp, “Rest, or I will cut you”

Azriel grabs her hand and holds it tightly, his consciousness slipping again. Amren startles a bit at it, but then she gives him a soft smile and squeezes his hand. “I’ll watch over all of you,” she whispers.

Azriel falls asleep and has never felt safer.

He’s so tired, that he only wakes well into the day, and when he does, it’s to Cassian’s body shifting underneath him. He’s up from the bed within seconds, hands hovering over Cass’s stirring form. Amren is nowhere in sight. Rhys is still asleep, not even a small sliver of attention from him. _By the Mother_ , he must be tired. _How long had he stayed up waiting for Az to wake?_ But Az can’t afford to pay attention to him; not right now. “Cass,” his voice is broken and dry, “ _Cass_ ”

He leans over the other male, eyes searching; his hands reaching out to hold him. His shadows do, as well. Cass’s breath stutters three times before his eyes open drowsily. “Az,” is the first thing he says and Azriel breaks. He sobs uncontrollably, tears lining his cheeks and hands clutching his brother tightly. The wound in his stomach stabs at him, and the pain makes him double over. Cass is halfway up from the bed before Az has finished moving, alarmed. He gathers Azriel’s sobbing form in his lap and holds him until he has no tears left to cry.

Az finally pulls away, rubbing at his eyes. “You’re so stupid, brother,” he growls, “You…” he finds no words, so he falls silent; staring. Cass has at least the decency to look ashamed. “I couldn’t let them hurt you any more than they already had,” he says, his voice set in steel; that cocksure smile still on his lips, “They’ll pay for what they did to you” “And what about what they did to you?” Azriel cuts in before he can help himself, “What they did to your…”

It seems it only then dawns on Cassian, his figure slumping. He reaches his right hand over his chest, towards his left wing—and meets the bandages. He swallows. A deep, shaky intake of breath. Azriel doesn’t know what to do. How to handle himself. He never was good at this. “Rhys says there’s still a chance…” Cass cuts him off with a bitter laugh. “Oh, does he now?” “Stop that,” Azriel cuts in, almost breathlessly, “You know I hate it when you do that”

Cassian only sneers at him.

He despises this side of Cass. That side that turns to cruelty when faced with trouble. That side that only hurts and hurts and never heals. That side of Cass that shatters his confidence and self-love. What’s worse, he’s humiliatingly bad at handling Cass in such situations. He’s lost; stumbling in a darkness that will swallow him whole and rip his brother away. He starts moving, glancing at Rhys, but Cassian lays a hand on his jaw and forces him to look back at him.

“No him,” he growls, “Just you and me, love”

Az’s breath stutters and his cheeks flush. Damn the Cauldron for landing him in this situation. Another side of Cassian that he’s horrible at handling. Back in Windhaven, Cassian had always been all flirting and crude jokes. There wasn’t a second he hadn’t made Azriel blush or stutter over his words. Through all these years, he’d never gotten used to it. It had disappeared after some time but always jumped out whenever Cassian was drunk or at his lowest.

“Stop,” Azriel mutters, evading his eyes. Cassian just grips his jaw tighter. And, as his shadows tell him, Azriel knows that it’s to hide his hand shaking. “Cass, stop it”

A choked sob comes from Cassian. “Shut the fuck up, Az,” he sneers and Azriel is near tears already. And then Rhys’s hand lands on his shoulder. He’s quiet; so quiet. A calm, dangerous kind of quiet. “Rhys…” he starts but Rhys squeezes his shoulder once. “Pull yourself together, brother,” he says, calm and Azriel expects Cassian to listen, like he always does, but when he catches Cassian’s eyes, they’re filled with _anger_.

“Get your hand _off him_ ,” he spits at Rhys, baring his teeth. Azriel startles; and Rhys behind him. But he doesn’t move his hand. He keeps it there, clutching tighter. “We’re yours, Cass,” he mutters, a deadly kind of calm now, and something clears in Cass’s eyes, “Just like you’re ours”

And Cass lets go of Azriel’s jaw, drops his sneer, looks at Azriel and cries. Rhys keeps standing over them, calm, while Azriel can’t help himself and lays his fingers over Cass’s. The other male grabs his hand and holds it tight, before shifting his eyes back to Rhys. “My—My wings,” he gasps, “Will I ever—” “If you fight for them,” Rhys answers, finally moving down on their level. “We can start training them as soon as they’re properly healed”


	2. Torn Stitches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote a chapter, finished it on Monday, and then realized I was pulling things along too quickly and had to write this chapter during mock exam times YAY! It's a bit short in comparison to the first chapter, but I feel like it has an appropriate length for the content, but I might go back and change the Mor part, just because I'm not all that satisfied with it. I hope you like it and leave a comment if you do! I live for your response

Azriel groans and doubles over, clutching at his stomach. The blade slides out of his hand and clatters to the floor. “Take it easy, brother,” Rhys says and hurries over to support him. Azriel tries to wave him away, but Rhys ignores him. He presses a hand to Azriel’s stomach, where the bandage is now stained red. He’d stretched too much to one side and reopened his wound. He breathes harshly through his nose, straightening his back. “I’m fine,” he grits through his teeth. Rhys sighs, but doesn’t protest; just supports Azriel until he can stand on his own.

Azriel won’t tell him, refuses to tell him, how much it actually hurts. How it feels like his wound is burning and sending small sparks of blazing heat through his chest. How in the mornings he often has to sit on the edge of his bed and even his breathing. Rhys has enough to worry about on his own. And he can’t bring himself to complain to Cass, who is still bedridden. Not even Mor and Amren, because…well…

He lets Rhys help him sit down, just because Rhys has that overprotective glint in his eyes. When Azriel is safely down on the bench, Rhys starts unwrapping his bandages, clicking his tongue. Azriel gives him a glare, but he doesn’t stop. Azriel winces when the bandages fall away. It doesn’t look too good. Rhys starts wiping at his wound with a wet cloth, grumbling. “If you want to comment, just do it…” Azriel starts, prompting Rhys to growl at him. “Shut up, you’ve always pressed yourself too hard”

Maybe he has, but he won’t say anything. He’s needed to do it, to stay strong. To not break. To not succumb to the constant pain and suffering. He doesn’t dare say, because Rhys will get overprotective again. He’ll try to fix it somehow, try to bear Azriel’s pain for him. He’ll try to tear apart all known laws of the universe, just to bring Az happiness. Azriel appreciates it, but it’s almost too much for him. So he doesn’t let Rhys know.

Rhys finishes cleaning his wound and gets to bandaging it up again. “No more movement for another week,” he says, an unsure grin on his lips. Azriel sighs, but nods. Rhys kisses his knuckles and helps him up, letting him lean into him.

And a pain grows in Azriel’s throat, and he finds himself unable to speak. His brother deserves so much better. He fights so much for them, refuses to let them fall, while never caring for his own downward spiral. He’s suddenly filled with a strong affection for him, a feeling that makes his heart light and it’s like the breath is escaping his lungs.

But he can’t even speak, can’t get the words out.  He swallows and widens his thoughts, leaning his mind against Rhys’s. Rhys glances at him but just lets a small door in his mind open. Azriel sends all those emotions through, letting them speak instead. Rhys almost stumbles backwards, eyes going unfocused, before he smiles softly and tugs Azriel closer.

He doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t have to.

 

-:-

 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Cass says when he sees Azriel limp into his room. Azriel just snorts and throws himself down in a chair, groaning when the wound throbs. He rubs his hand over the bandage once, in a futile attempt to make it stop itching. “Seriously?” Cass continues, “How can you scold _me_ on wanting to get out of bed and at least _stretch_ , when you rip open your wound just sparring?”

Azriel rolls his eyes and shrugs. “My injury wasn’t as serious…” “Oh fuck that, you’re hurt now,” Cass cuts him off and waves his hand, urging him closer. “Come ‘ere”

Azriel can never deny him. He struggles up from the chair, huffing at the small sparks of pain. He limps over to Cass’s bed, where Cass grabs onto his pants and tugs him down beside him. He flights his fingers over Azriel’s hip, eyes softening. “You should take better care of yourself,” he whispers, “You’ve always been reckless, Az, and I don’t want you to…Remember that time in Windhaven? When that one jerk tried to kill Rhys and you… You got whipped for hours afterwards, I remember. And that was small. You’ve always been so loving with us; not always when we’ve deserved it…”

Azriel turns his head away when Cass chokes up. True, he loves them too much. Too much for them and himself. Cass is still moving his fingers, sending warmth through Azriel’s body. And he can’t take it. All his thoughts jumble together, as they always do when someone tries to lay him bare and pick apart his sins. His skin burns and his throat snares up.

Azriel gets up, ignoring Cass’s grunts of protest, and moves for the door. “Where’re you going?” Cass asks, in a last, desperate attempt to keep him there. “Out,” Azriel answers, slipping through the door. He feels terrible, but his mind immediately clears. He hasn’t learned how to handle it yet, and he won’t start with breaking down on Cass. His breakdown on Rhys had already left him rattled, and he couldn’t take any more at this point.

He steps out onto the streets of Velaris and breathes in the air. He walks for a while, hand in his pockets and eyes cast downwards. He still bothers to smile to the people who acknowledge him, but it’s forced. They notice it, too, he knows, but they know not to ask.

He starts to calm, but then a knowing fall of golden hair enters his vision and his throat tightens again. Mor turns to face him, a smile adorning her face. “Az,” she cries out, coming towards him. Azriel swallows but forces himself to not turn and walk away. “Hi,” he manages to answer, his hands growing sweaty in his pockets.

“I thought you were resting,” she said as she came to a stop before him. “I _am_ resting,” he says, deadpanning. Mor gets that look she usually gets when she can’t figure out if he’s joking or not. Azriel finds it endearing but keeps his mask of indifference on; won’t scare her away again. Mor gives an exasperated sigh before she takes the lead back to the house, the place Azriel wants to be the least.

“Rhys told me you tore your wound again…”


	3. Growing Stronger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't really remember the time frame of everything, even if I reread ACOWAR, so if you find any time references in the book, please tell me so I (possibly) can correct it. Also, this is the first chapter that contains anti-Nesta content, so if you're a superfan of hers, please leave. I wanted to create a bit more tension between Cass and Az, idk how I managed it, though.

A few months later, Cassian crashes into the roof of the House of Winds. He lets out a string of curses, stumbling to his feet. Azriel rushes forward, arms already outstretched. Cass tries to bat him away, but Az keeps his grip strong. “Good,” he says, “You’re doing good”

Cass just shakes his head, muscles tensing. He winces when his wings do the same. Az throws a glance at them. The scars are healed now, but he can see the knots in his muscles; how much they’re straining. He’s worked himself too far. Az looks back at his brother’s face; tips his head slightly back; Cass has always been a few centimetres taller than him. “I hate this,” Cass sneers, “I had the strongest wings in Windhaven, and look at me now: Can’t even fly straight”

Az ties to swallow his anger but, as it always is with Cass, it comes bubbling to the surface. “I couldn’t fly properly before I was fourteen, Cass,” he says quietly, and Cass gets that guilty look on his face, “Do you know how humiliating it was? To watch all of you fly, and fail myself? I didn’t even know how to hold my wings. You’ve already come such a far way, after only a few months, so shut the fuck up”

Az is shocked to feel tears in his eyes. He lets go of his brother, turns and flies away. He feels cruel, _oh, so cruel_ , when he hears Cass’s helpless call behind him. “Wait, don’t leave me!” he sounds broken; scared, “Az, please!”

And who is Azriel to deny his brother?

 

-:-

 

Azriel ducks out of the way as Nesta throws a book after him. He’d tried to go and talk to her; make her see reason. But she’d called him “fae scum” and thrown him out. Azriel couldn’t resist the urge and had reminded her that she was fae, as well. She didn’t take it that well. He sighs and composes himself. Damn Nesta and her stubbornness. At first, he’d understood, but now…now he’s just tired and annoyed.

He’d tried to be decent, he had, but every time he sees her or Elain’s face he’s reminded of what they did to their sister; to _his_ sister. And he cannot forgive. Not when it doomed Feyre to grow up too fast. Not when it shoved Feyre into Tamlin’s arms. Not when it still scars her. He doesn’t care for Nesta’s “hidden softness”; her selfishness; her excuses and self-centered reasons. He cares for his Sister Dear.

He takes off, opting to fly up to the roof instead of taking the stairs. When he lands, Cass is stretching his wings; knuckles working over knots and scars. “Hello, brother,” he says, making his way over to the other male. Cass looks up and a grin breaks out on his face. “I stayed in the air for over an hour, without swerving,” he says eagerly. “I don’t think that’s entirely healthy,” Az laughs as an answer. Cass just smirks at him. “Well, I _am_ known for my stamina,” he leers, and it brings colour to Azriel’s cheeks. He swats at Cass’s head as he passes, turning his head away to hide his blush.

These past few months, how he’s been around Cass…after Cass sacrificed his wings for him, something new had developed within him. A longing. For Cass; for his warmth and his… And those flames lick at his heart again; those hot, kindling emotions that he had strangled for years and years, since before even Mor. How he’d been so utterly weak for the other male, and sometimes Cass had acted like… Azriel quickly ends the thought. Nothing like that would be possible.

He picks up a blade. “Normal drills today?” he asks. Cass just grunts in answer, moving to follow Azriel. There’s a tension in his body as if he wants to say something but can’t bring himself to do it. The shadows nearly squeal when Cass stops right behind him, breath hitting his neck. “Cass?” he asks, his voice quivering. Damnit, why did this always happen to him? He’s so scared that his brother has gone dark again; that the cruelty’s returned. Cass’s hands come to rest on his hips, and he leans his forehead between Azriel’s shoulder blades… _so, so_ close to his wings.

They stand there for a while, just breathing. Azriel desperately tries to keep the blush from his face, but he’s not entirely able to. He has to struggle to keep his breathing steady. Cass is so warm, and his hands are rough over Azriel’s soft skin. The male starts moving his thumbs in circles, occasionally dipping just under the waistband of Azriel’s pants. At one time, his tongue flickered out and licked a small stripe up Azriel’s spine. Azriel is tense, unsure of how to respond.

They’d danced around each other before, finding pleasure in the chase and tension. They’d fucked, once, in Windhaven and never spoken of it again. They’d shared occasional kisses; when Azriel had been deep in grief and pain. None of it had prepared him for this. Falling for Cass. He doesn’t know how Cass feels; why he’s doing this. The shadows push an idea at his mind, prodding at his feelings. There’s that chance; that _small, desperate chance_ ; that Cass has fallen, as well. Azriel pushes his shadows away, scolding them. He needs to lower his expectations before they break him; as they had with Mor. Cass has always needed releases; no matter who it was. Azriel was a simple option; easy to persuade. He’d never tell Cass no, he’d just go to his knees.

Cass lets go of him, at last, and goes to get a blade. Azriel is left standing there, breathless and flushed.

 

-:-

 

Two days later, Cass lands, a cocksure smile on his lips. “How I’ve missed the wind,” he breathes, flexing his wings. Azriel’s eyes follow their rise. The scars stretch on the membrane, oddly artistic. Cass will wear them as a trophy, he’s sure. “They’re already stronger,” he praises and reaches out a hand; runs his fingers along one of the scars.

Cass shivers beneath his touch, but Azriel pays him no mind; he’s lost. Cass’s wings have always been bewitching. They’re still so bloody beautiful. He continues to feel out the strong membrane in long, slow strokes. He’s so enticed, only his shadows notice the shift in Cass’s breath from light to heavy. Cass is used to this, Azriel notes, unwanted jealousy blossoming in his chest. His wings are used to this kind of contact, not that sensitive. His own hands don’t count, as Illyrian wings are used to their owner’s hands.

Still, they react, and it’s not long before Cass’s cheeks are flushed. When Cass finally speaks, his tone has dropped. “You must let me touch yours, some time,” he says, eyes trained closely on Azriel’s face. Azriel’s breath stutters. Half a second after, Cass’s breath follows Azriel’s.  Azriel doesn’t know how to think; isn’t sure he _can_ think. His wings…they’re so private; so hidden. Nobody’s touched them in years, not since _them_. _By the mother_ , how sensitive they must be. He’s scared to let them go; to let Cass see. Still…

He glances over at Cass. His face is asking; open.

Azriel hesitates for a small moment that feels like an eternity. Then he gives a small nod and flares one of his wings a little up from his back. Cass seems surprised but still reassures Azriel with a smile as he steps closer and reaches out a hand. The moment Cass’s fingers make contact with his wing, Azriel’s breath hitches. Warmth shoots from his wings, the trace of Cass’s fingers nearly painful from the oversensitivity.

Nobody has ever touched them like this. Even _them._ Cass’s grip isn’t like theirs. It isn’t a cold, hard grip, it’s a soft caress that makes his cheeks bloom with colour. Cass hasn’t shifted his attention from Azriel’s face, even for a second, his gaze intense. Azriel has a hard time keeping his composure as subtle pleasure runs from his wing.

“Your wings were always so beautiful,” Cass says and steps closer; his breath is ghosting at Azriel’s cheek, and he keeps his fingers running close to those sensitive spots by the ridges. Azriel feels pressure build in his stomach, his pants tightening. Cass is unwinding him so fast that it feels like he’s free-falling from one of the Illyrian mountains with his wings bound. He can’t keep his breath steady, and his skin burns where Cass is _so, so close_. Their eyes meet, and Azriel knows that his eyes can’t hide his arousal. And, damn him, he _whimpers_ and falls into Cass’s body _,_ completely at the mercy of his hand and eyes. A smirk plays at Cass’s lips.

Azriel takes hard, deep breaths, tears watering his eyes. Cass’s fingers keep grazing his wing, somehow finding all the right spots. Cass is breathing hotly into his ear, smirking against his skin. Small, hitched gasps come out with Azriel’s breaths, and he clutches onto Cass’s bicep, his legs growing weaker by the second. “Cass,” he whimpers, laying his forehead against Cass’s shoulder, “ _Cassian_ ”

 _The High Lord is here_ , his shadows tell him. He doesn’t want Rhys to come. He wants Cass to keep touching him; to do whatever he’s thinking of doing. But the beating of Rhys’s strong wings breaks into his mind and he tears away from Cass before Rhys has them in view. He thinks he sees something like hurt in Cass’s eyes, but the other male goes back to bandaging his hands. Rhys lands next to Cass and claps him one time on the shoulder before holding a hand out to Azriel, which he gladly grabs. Rhys holds him for a few moments before letting go. Azriel glances at Cass and thinks he can see jealousy in his eyes before it’s gone and replaced by that usual playful glint.

But it sticks to Azriel. Through their entire training session and when they bathe afterwards and when he goes to sleep. He can’t wrap his mind around it. Cass had never once been the outsider in their little trio, so why…the shadows whisper to him; all the possible reasons, but they push on one especially, almost giddily. Azriel hisses at them to shut up, because like hell that would be possible.

 

-:-

 

Azriel parries a blow from Cass, barely avoiding stumbling backwards, overwhelmed. Cass had been obsessed these past few months, to increase his strength even more. It had led to Cass nearly destroying his practice blade, as he was unaccustomed to his new strength. It had also led to Azriel having to excuse himself, slip beneath the covers of his bed and finger himself to release. His attraction to the other male is getting out of hand. Rhys knows, or at least suspects, if those pitying glances are anything to go by. Azriel hates them.

“Take it slow, yeah?” Azriel pants, not sure if he can hold himself back if Cass gets any sweatier now. Cass smirks at him as if he can see all the fantasies that are swirling around in his head. “I don’t care about your famous _stamina_ ,” Azriel continues, trying to steer the attention away, “You’re going to destroy yourself”

Cass just laughs—and attacks again.

When they come out of the baths, they wrap themselves in their Illyrian armour. They’d planned a small visit to an Illyrian camp, just to see if the females were getting treated as they should. Azriel had once suggested to just kill the Lords who refused to obey Rhys’s new regime, but both Rhys and Cass had quickly shot that down. Their loyalty would surely disappear after that. So now they keep a close watch, trying to catch any Lord in the act, but it’s hard.

And yet, it’s worth fighting for.

He’s just finished strapping daggers to his thighs when there’s a pressure against his mind. He opens it to Rhys’s immediately; the shadows see Cassian do the same. Rhys’s fears and pure _rage_ washes over him. _She’s in the Autumn Court; on the border to Winter_ , he says, his voice loud and desperate, _go, go, go._ Both of them have taken off before he’s even finished talking.

Mor is standing ready when they arrive. All she has to do is reach out her arms, grab onto the two of them, and they’re gone. They land on soft snow, cold air hitting them on all sides. Mor is already shivering, but her eyes are unwavering steel. “Go get her back,” she whispers. Azriel glances at Cass, who gives him a small nod before taking off. Azriel follows him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, they're finally going for her! If you liked something at all in this chapter, please leave a comment and a kudos! They make my day


	4. Home, she's home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting yesterday, I was over at my friend's from 5pm to 11pm on a Barbie marathon (We're trying to decide when the quality started falling, also nostalgia) and I just forgot to post. Honestly, I feel like the last half of this chapter is a bit dragging, but, hey, you might like it!

 The wind is hard and strong, but it’s nothing compared to the Illyrian mountains. He finds a stream of wind that can support him and flares his wings wide, riding it with ease. Cass falls in line below him, struggling a bit, but managing to steady himself before it gets too bad. Far ahead, the white, pristine dunes go into bright, orange leaf-covered fields. There, on a frozen lake, he can see two small figures moving across the ice. A column of flames explodes before them, and Azriel’s wings only falter for a moment, before his minds clears of his monsters and he’s back in the cold. He can hear Feyre through his shadows; _feel_ her; feel her _fears_ and her _desperation_. He starts tilting downwards; towards his sister.

Cass pulls up beside him, hands going to the knives at his hips. He can see them clearly now, on the lake. Feyre running beside Lucien, his cruel brothers behind them, firestorms at their palms. He flares his wings, swings his feet forward and readies himself to land. The wind hits his wings, slowing his fall, he tenses his feet and takes a deep breath. Landing has always been a pain.

And then Cass hurtles past him, unsteady. He goes down fast, hurtling towards the ice. He crashes down on it, luckily sticking the landing, but splinters of ice go everywhere, and his wings are barely kept off the ground. Azriel curses before he also draws his wings in, because, _damnit_ , he won’t let his brother go into this alone.

He hits the ice hard, his shadows scattering over the surface. His ankles take the blow, straining. Azriel curses under his breath, dreading the stretching he has to do later. His wings flare up from his back, steadying him slightly. He goes straight for the closest brother; just saving Lucien from his sword. Azriel meets the blade with his own, shoving Lucien behind him. The brother, Azriel thinks his name is Joash, sneers at him. Azriel answers it with a cut, to the cheek, from his dagger.

He doesn’t know how long he blows and parries, just fights with Lucien at his back. His shadows tell him that Eris, _that prick,_ has hurt Feyre and his rage only grows. Joash is barely able to keep him off. They should’ve learned long ago; to not hurt his family. The siphon on his left arm starts glowing, readying itself. Joash’s eyes grow wide and he stumbles backwards; so unlike his usual arrogant behaviour. Good. Azriel wants him to be scared when he dies.

Then Cass gives his shadows a sign, and Azriel sighs. It’s a pity, but he’ll have to save the killing for later. He sends a blast of force from his Siphon, which makes Joash stumble backwards. As he hits the ice, Azriel tenses his wings and presses the soles of his feet into the ice. He turns halfway and wraps his hand around Lucien’s waist. Lucien whips around, confused, before Azriel tucks him in against his chest and beats his wings once, twice. He’s off the ice in seconds. Beside him, Cass is taking off with Feyre tucked safely in his arms.

Lucien flails slightly, trying to steady himself. Azriel sighs and places a hand on his thigh, drawing Lucien’s feet up over his hips. Lucien splutters, growing red in the face. “To keep you steady,” Azriel yells over the wind, trying to save himself the embarrassment. Lucien stills and nods, trying to avoid his eyes. Azriel keeps his eyes on the mountains of Winter. Feyre meets his eyes over Cass’s shoulder, amused. He sends her his usual death-glare.

It’s not long before he sees Mor, a blob of colour against the white snow. He pulls up again, swinging his feet forward. Except, with Lucien clinging to him, it creates too much momentum.

If you ask him later, he’ll say it didn’t happen. That you’re imagining things. And if you find proof against that statement, he’ll say that he doesn’t remember it. That it traumatized him too much. That he’s suppressed the memory. He refuses to acknowledge it. That in that split-second he readied himself to land, Lucien got jerked forward and their lips crashed against each other.

When they’re finally on the ground, and Lucien staggers away from him, trying to avoid looking at him as much as possible. Azriel won’t blame him. In fact, he’s doing the exact same thing. Feyre hurries over to Mor, widening her arms for a hug, so Azriel has nothing to do but to drift towards Cass. The moment Cass catches his eyes, Azriel knows that he’ll never live it down. Cass’s shoulders are shaking, his lips drawn in tightly in an attempt to keep his laughter in.

When Azriel comes up to his side, Cass slings an arm around his shoulder, leans close, and snickers against his cheek: “You got a new sweetheart?” Azriel shoves him lightly in the shoulder and leans heavily on him. “Shut up,” he just says, which only makes Cass laugh harder. Within a moment, it has Azriel chuckling as well.

 

-:-

 

The look on Rhys’s face when he finally sees Feyre again is partially heart-breaking. Azriel can see all those months of longing and pain on it. Added on are the months when she still was on Tamlin’s side. It’s as if he’s seeing Feyre for the first time again. His smile is glowing, his eyes filled with such pure, unadulterated love, and Azriel has to look away. Remind himself that he shouldn’t be jealous of his brother like that. And then a sob echoes through the small room.

Both Azriel and Cass startle forward as Feyre falls to her knees, but Rhys reaches her first. He takes her face in his hands, smiles. Azriel turns, feels like he’s intruding on their privacy, nudges Cass to follow him, and sets for the door. Cass grabs Lucien and follows him. Lucien protests slightly but falls silent when Cass growls at him. Azriel’s shadows tell him that Mor and Amren are also leaving.

They steer Lucien through most of Velaris’s streets and Azriel gets this protective feeling; like Lucien really shouldn’t be seeing this; like he shouldn’t even _be_ here. Lucien keeps whipping his head around, drinking in so much as if he wanted to get drunk on the view of the city. What he mostly focused on, though, was the children. Their laughs echoing through the streets. Their smiles shining. A small smile paints Lucien’s own face, an incredulous and sweet one, as if he can’t believe this happiness.

“It _is_ a wonderful city,” Azriel murmurs, laying a heavy hand on Lucien’s shoulder. The red-head flinches, his eyes growing wide. Azriel can’t keep a smirk off his lips and glances over at Cass, who returns it before slinging an arm around Lucien’s shoulder. The poor male looks terrified.

“So, Lucie, can I call you Lucie?” Lucien starts to shake his head, but Cass won’t listen, “I’ll call you Lucie. Listen, Lucie, the only reason you’re not dead is because Feyre vouched for you. If you, in some way or other, try to betray her or take her back to Tamlin…” “No.” Cass looks unbelievably offended at being interrupted but lets Lucien keep talking. “Not to Tamlin, he…” Lucien seems to struggle with his words, drawing a hand through his hair. Azriel reaches out his shadows, trails them along Lucien’s neck. And they detect regret. Regret and anger and sadness, so much unfaced _sadness_. He’s confused about himself; about his feelings; about what he did and what he’s doing _right now_.

Azriel withdraws his shadows and claps Lucien’s shoulder one time. “We need to get you some alcohol,” he says.

 

-:-

 

Azriel and Cass support Lucien between them as they stumble through the darkened streets, almost carrying his lithe body. Lucien keeps slurring out broken sentences and stumbling over his own feet and Azriel wonders if getting alcohol in him was a bad idea. He and Cass had each taken two small glasses, while Lucien had downed nearly four bottles of the strong stuff. “I hate it, you know, I owe him my _fucking life_ , but he doesn’t…”

He gets cut off when he trips and weighs himself heavily on Azriel. Azriel is already annoyed at his own decision, all because he hadn’t worked up the guts to ask Lucien outright. In a second, he’s withdrawn himself and is speaking again. “You know Amarantha—that _bitch_ —she had me whipped, made Tamlin do it, too…and—and _then_ he somehow manages to get it into his head that this _one guy who is obviously not lying_ lost those fucking keys and that he should be _whipped_. Is he just daft or does Ianthe make everyone this fucking _stupid_?”

Azriel has no idea what he’s talking about but just lets him continue, sounding the occasional sound of agreement. Cass gives him an amused look but hoists Lucien up against his shoulder again. “Should we take him to the house of winds?” Cass asks, “Or just leave him in that hole you call an apartment, where you can canoodle your sweetheart in peace?”

Azriel glares at him and lets the shadows run a shiver down his back. Cass jumps and sends Azriel a look but keeps quiet. They agree to keep him out of the house of winds, for now, and take him to Azriel’s. When they’ve safely tucked him in Azriel’s bed, they leave over to Cass’s apartment, which is considerably smaller but homelier, in a way.

On the way, Azriel tries to keep an appropriate distance away from Cass, trying not to be too obvious about it. His thoughts are a jumbled mess, and he doesn't know what he'll do if he gets too close to the other male. Cass breaks down—or rather completely and utterly crushes—his attempts by throwing himself sideways, tugging Azriel into his side. Azriel feels his cheeks redden but does his best to cool them down. They're silent the entire way.

Azriel’s eyelids are drooping when they arrive at the door, he got up too early today and the exhaustion of the day’s actions is finally settling in. He drags himself across the floor and readies himself to crash on the sofa, but Cass’s arm comes around his waist and tugs him towards the bedroom. “I promise I won’t do anything inappropriate, Az,” he says with a wink and Azriel’s walls are far enough down to let him laugh. Tries to ignore the blush rising on his cheeks.

They barely get their leathers off before they fall into the bed. And Azriel tells himself he’s imagining it when Cass turns over, lays a hand over his waist and tugs him close. His wings are pushed flush against Cass’s chest and Cass’s lips are ghosting against Azriel’s nape.

Azriel can barely fall asleep but, somehow, he manages to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More blushing from Azriel! Honestly, I never intended for Cass to be so forward with Azriel but he just kind of wrote himself like that. The whole thing with Lucien and Az is just self-indulgent drama, tbh, but it was fun. Also, if you see any "Valerie"s her instead of Velaris, please tell me, my computer autocorrected it and I've forgotten if I had more than one "Velaris" in there. Thanks for reading, please leave a comment and a kudos, it'd really make me happy!


	5. Wants and Needs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the thing is, I don't really want to repeat Sarah's story, so everything in ACOWAR that I don't really mind won't be present in the story, probably alluded to, but won't take centre stage. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Azriel, gratefully, wakes up alone. The sheets are twisted around his chest, one of his wings aching, due to him sleeping on his side. The sun peeks through the window, which is open, burning in his eyes. Soft, flowery air brushes over his skin and makes him shiver.

Cass’s scent clings to the bedsheets and it makes his sleep-pants tighten. Damnit. Thankfully, Cass isn’t here to see his embarrassment. He sends his shadows through the apartment, searching for the other male. They don’t find him; he’s probably out buying breakfast. None of them had ever been particularly good at cooking. Azriel takes a deep breath and turns over onto his stomach. He feels dirty, in a way, to do this in Cass’s apartment; in his bed. But he can’t help himself.

So he slips a hand into his pants, tugging at his cock. He groans and whimpers into the pillows, hips thrusting desperately down into his palm. He hopes Cass is out long.

When he’s done, he rises and goes to the bathroom. Washes himself, tries to get the varying dirty scents off himself. Doesn’t want Cass to know. Sure, they’ve gotten each other off before but that was in _Windhaven_ , and time has changed things between them. Cass would probably not think anything of it, but Azriel wouldn’t take any risks.

When Cass returns, Azriel is by the counter, readying plates and water. Cass hums in thanks and slings some food from Rita’s onto the counter. He slides his hand around Azriel’s waist as he passes by, fetching salt. Then he comes up behind Azriel, _again,_ and buries his face in his neck. Azriel goes rigid again, his wings flaring a bit from his back, brushing against Cass’s shirt and everything overwhelms him. Cass smirks against his skin and lets go, shuffling the food onto the plates. The shadows curl up over his ears. _He scents it on you_ , they tease, and _he likes it_. Azriel shoves them away.

“It’s good to have Feyre back,” Cass sighs. Azriel just nods, tries to wrestle down the jealousy. He’d seen Cass and Feyre’s hugs, the glances. He’d gotten to say a proper welcome to their sister; given her reassurance and love. Azriel knows he’s withdrawn. That he’s cold and seems uncaring and distant. But it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t care. But Feyre hasn’t approached him about it, so he won’t go out of his way to annoy her. Feyre cares about him, he knows, and he cares about her, too. But they’ve never been particularly close, not ones to over-express emotions. A cough breaks his thoughts and his eyes go up to Cass, who is smiling softly at him. “Go tell her, Az,” he mutters, as if he read Azriel’s thoughts, “She’d want you to”

Azriel just gives him a curt nod.

-:-

Azriel finds Feyre lounging on the roof of the town house. He lands a small distance away from her, tense. She turns and smiles at him, but he can’t bring himself to return it. His muscles freeze up, his hands trembling slightly. His wings instinctively flare slightly, his shadows gathering around his wrists. She pats the roof next to herself and then reaches her hand towards him. “Come sit with me,” she says, never dropping that smile. And something inside Azriel just _melts_. He forces himself to walk towards her. He drops down next to her, letting her lean her head on his shoulder. They’re silent and Azriel’s chest just keeps tightening more and more, choking him. He lets out a stuttering breath and tells her: “I missed you…so much, Feyre”

Feyre glances up at his face, twists her body to snuggle up to him. Azriel stiffens again because she’s Rhys’s mate and he doesn’t want to… He breathes out and lays a hand over her shoulder.  “I missed you, too, Az,” she mutters, “I don’t know how to explain but…that silence of yours is different from all other silences; I missed it”

Azriel lets a rare smile emerge, pressing his lips to her hair. He wants to say so, so much but his words are gone, buried in his throat. His shadows sigh in his ears, urging him to actually _say something_. But he’s retreating into himself again, his feelings forced into a small core. Gone. He’s about to leave, unable to face his cowardice, but Feyre starts speaking. “It means a lot to me, Az, that you came here to say this,” she says, “And I know you think no one knows, Az, but we do. We know how much you love us, you don’t have to fight to prove it. _We know. I know_ ; You’re my brother, Az, just as much as Cass is. You two are more like siblings to me than Nesta and Elain _ever were_.”

Azriel’s breath leaves him. His grip on Feyre tightens and he buries his head in her shoulder as the tears start falling. “Oh, Az,” she mutters, her hand going up to thread her fingers through his hair, “Oh, _dear_ Azriel”

He curls in on himself, his head sliding down to her chest, and she cradles him against her, like a mother to her child. She shushes at him, curling her fingers in his hair and lays the other hand over his back, rubbing up and down. Now he’s the one that is curling up against her, letting her baby him in a way. He tugs her closer and presses her tight against himself. She’d called him brother. _Brother_. She’d said he was a better sibling than… For so long, with Rhys’s sister, Ameria, he’d been careful; So, so careful. He didn’t want to turn into his brothers; Scared of turning into a horrible monster for her. And now with Feyre… He’d been careful with her, too, maybe too careful. But he cares. Oh, how he cares for her. His sister. He cries harder, shoulders shaking.

The shadows tell him that Rhys is coming up on the roof, but Azriel is too comfortable in Feyre’s arms to pull back. The High Lord sits down next to them, not commenting. Instead, his hand sneaks out to massage Azriel’s neck. Azriel sits between them like that, sniffling, both of them calm and collected. He feels like a child, having to be comforted by his parents. Cass would’ve probably laughed at the image of that; Rhys and Feyre as their parents.

Azriel chuckles at the thought, finally feeling content enough to pull away from her. She rests her palm on his cheek, rubbing her thumb back and forth. Rhys hums and leans in to kiss his neck. Azriel freezes up, unsure of how to react when Feyre is there, but when her smile softens even more, he lets go of his fears and lays his lips on Rhys’s jaw.

“The truth is, you Illyrians are actually really sweet, aren’t you?” Feyre coos, pursing her lips. Rhys chuckles; Azriel just smiles. He leans back on Feyre and lets them laugh and smile between each other, entirely happy to sink into the background. _Cass is coming_ , his shadows whisper and he nods absentmindedly, ignoring the glances Rhys and Feyre send him. The beating of Cass’s wings sounds behind them.

“I’m here to pick up a grumpy bat,” the male says as he lands, “Lucie managed to make a mess of your apartment” Azriel groans low in his throat, laying a hand over his eyes. “You didn’t sleep at your apartment?” Rhys mutters. “Nah,” Azriel shrugs, “Slept over at Cass’s” He meets Rhys’s knowing smirk with a glare. He gets up and moves over to Cass, who then throws a hand around him, and intentionally, he knows because the shadows tell him, brushing against his wings. Azriel gives a small yelp of surprise, blushing.

“Asshole,” he mutters as he hears Rhys join Cass in laughing.

 

-:-

 

“How’s Feyre’s training coming around?” Cass asks, stretching his arms. Azriel picks up a discarded sweater from the floor, folds it and lays it on his bed. “Well enough,” he sighs, debating how much he’s going to spill, “She’ll tell you that a tree magically grew in two seconds and that it wasn’t her fault” He’ll face Feyre’s wrath later.

Cass bursts out laughing, doubling over. Azriel gives a snort of agreement, going over to the dresser. Cass keeps on cackling. “You…she…y-you,” he stops to laugh again, clutching at his stomach. Azriel rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, I did the exact same thing, I know,” he sighs, tugging out a shirt and pulling it on. There’s a thump as Cass falls over on the floor, screaming laughing. “Okay, don’t be mean now,” Azriel snorts, trying to keep his own laughter down.

He doesn’t hold up, though, and ends up on the floor with Cass, rolling around with laughter ripping at their throats. Cass’s eyes stand on Azriel with fondness. It’s been a while since he’s laughed so loudly and freely. Giggles roll around and cramp on his stomach; his wings flare and twitch, in beat with the laughter. He’s forgotten what he’s even laughing about. “S-stop it,” Azriel gasps, “Cass, my wings are hurting”

Cass stills next to him. Then he moves, and a weight settles against Azriel’s side. Azriel waits for the extreme blush to overtake his face, but is relieved to find that a slight, pleasant flush is blooming instead. Cass reaches across Azriel’s chest and touches the wing that is slightly flaring up. He’s unprepared. His light laughter quickly turns into a breathless moan, echoing through the apartment; His back arches desperately.

Azriel’s flush instantly intensifies. He’d been so open with the laughter; Hadn’t anticipated this. That Cass would get this close this fast. He shifts his wing away, but Cass’s fingers follow. “C’mon,” the other male mutters, “We’ve done this before”

They have. But they were young and careless then. Things are, _should,_ be different now. Yet, he can’t deny Cass. The euphoric feeling of Cass’s fingers unravels him. He shuts his lips, silencing a whimper, as Cass leans down to nip at his neck. His fingers move again, fluttering over the thin membrane, sending warmth and tension down to Azriel’s crotch. He cries out and curls himself against Cass’s chest, breath hitching in his throat. “Cass,” he groans, fingers grasping at his shirt, “ _Cass_ ”

He’s falling apart so, so fast. Cass is pulling at his strings; his heart and he’s falling again. This time, though, he knows that Cass will be there to catch him. Gather him in his arms and complete him. His shadows are singing in pleasure, gasping as they never have before. _Good_ , they sing, _so good_. They somehow manage to double Azriel’s own pleasure. He whines low in his throat, tears clouding his eyes.

Cass gives a cocky chuckle and brushes his lips along Azriel’s jaw. “You were always so sweet,” he says, makes Azriel moan again. Azriel wants to give something back, to make Cass feel good, but his hands falter, unmovable; He can only lift his hips to grind against Cass’s thigh, which is placed between his feet. Cass breathes heavily in his ear and scratches his nails against the wing.

Azriel’s back shoots up, arching, and he tips his head backwards, hips hitting Cass’s thigh hard. A loud, guttural groan rips through his throat and his blush runs hot through his veins. Cass smirks on his collarbone and _twists_ his hand, nails scraping.

Then Azriel’s coming. He chokes out gasps, mouth wide open. A hand goes up to clutch at Cass’s bicep, nails digging in. He closes his eyes, not wanting to face Cass like this. Cass moves his hand to Azriel’s shoulder, holds him steady. It takes a while for him to actually calm down, relax, in Cass’s arms.

Cass presses one last kiss to his jaw and pulls away, smirking. “I’ve missed having you like that,” he mutters. Azriel nods, not really wanting to move. He stares at Cass, words pressing against his throat. He wants to say it, confess it. _Tell him,_ the shadows hiss, _now._ “Cass,” he mutters, ready now. “Yeah?”

A knock sounds on the door. _Oh, dear_ , the shadows groan, _Nesta_. “It’s Nesta,” he says to Cass and the other male instantly changes. He jumps up from the floor, straightens his shirt and makes for the door. Leaves Azriel aching. Maybe it’s for the best. After all, Cass is obviously weak for someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so that happened. Honestly, I had something else entirely planned for this chapter, but...Cass is too horny to control. AND THEN WE END IT WITH ANGST! Goddamn it, Cass, pull yourself together. Leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed it!


	6. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes discussion of past abuse between Feyre and Azriel, be warned. This is also where the Nesta hate really peaks, so if you REALLY love Nesta I would advise you to not continue reading this fic.

Azriel doesn’t need to be a genius (he his, but that’s not the point) to understand that Cass and Feyre’s visit to the Bone Carver had been unpleasant. Cass is hacking away with the sword, his face tight and cold. His muscles are gleaming with sweat, his hair damp. Azriel’s stomach tightens, tying itself into knots. They hadn’t talked properly about the episode on the floor of the apartment, just let it slide by. Azriel liked it that way. Less chance for him to embarrass himself talking to Cass.

Cass stops swinging the sword when he catches sight of Azriel, raises his hand in greeting. Azriel nods at him, stepping forward. “Rough day?” he asks softly, not knowing what to expect. Cass nods. “The Bone Carver is such a fucking creep,” he sneers, “Creepier than you, even”

Azriel huffs a laugh and picks up Cass’s discarded shirt, throwing it at the other male. “It’s difficult, that,” he mutters and beckons Cass over to him, “Stop before you rip your body apart”

Cass huffs but goes to put the blade away. His stomach muscles ripples in the light and the bun he had tied his hair in is coming undone. Azriel is shocked to feel his cheeks warm again. When did this become such a problem for him? His emotions had never been so uncontrollable as now; running completely wild and pushing up at his borders. It forces him to actually put effort into hiding all of them.

It was a habit he’d grown into easily through the years. He’d learned to control them when the other, higher-ranking Illyrians had spat and jeered at him. To show them a reaction would only mean lashings and more mockery. Rhys and Cass had noticed, but let him do it, as long as he showed at least some emotions when he was theirs. He’d often find the males who had mocked him beaten the next day, though, but since Rhys didn’t acknowledge it, he didn’t either.

The talent had especially blossomed while he’d served under Rhys’s father. Any emotion he showed towards Rhys left his father with material to use against them. The Lord had often made insulting and suggestive comments about their friendship, just to get a rise out of Azriel. Mercifully, he’d managed to contain himself and stare coldly past the Lord. Rhys hadn’t taken it as well, though, and it had amused the Lord for weeks.

He’d used _so much time_ on perfecting this fucking façade and Cass had torn it down in less than a few weeks. He takes a deep breath and goes after Cass, speaking. “Rhys wants us to meet sometime, discuss some propositions,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “ _Propositions_ , huh?” Cass scoffs, “That serious, then?” Azriel’s look gives him enough answer. Cass sighs. “God, I’m tired of these assholes thinking they’re smarter than us”

Azriel grunts in answer. Cass picks up a bowl, one they always have standing there, filled with ice-cold water. Cass grabs the washcloth, wets it and starts wiping the sweat off. “What did Nesta want?” Azriel asks, tries to make it sound natural. Cass’s look tells him that he failed. “Nothing, just wanted to know some…things,” he mutters, uncomfortable. Azriel takes a deep breath, knows how it must sound to Cass, but he has to say it. “How can you stand her?” he nearly whispers, so scared.

Cass stills. “What do you mean?” he asks, dangerously quiet. “I mean Feyre,” Azriel answers and it comes out a lot harsher than he intended it to. Cass turns to look at him. “What do you want me to say, Az?” he says, and he looks _so_ tired. “Please tell me so we can finish this conversation”

His words hit Azriel like a slap. Cass had never shut him down like that before. Never dismissed him. He swallows, but nothing can stop the tears that swell in his eyes. Of course Nesta would be the one to throw off their friendship. He tries to remain impassive as he’s scrutinized beneath Cass’s stare. Then a sob chokes itself out his throat and he doesn’t know why he’s _so goddamn emotional_ over this. Why the _fuck_ is he nearly crying?

“Az…” Cass starts, but Azriel holds up a hand to stop him. He tries to collect himself, but soon finds that he has to talk with a thick voice. But he won’t make this about himself. No, this is Feyre’s. “I look at her and…and I _hate_ her, Cass. I cannot forgive her for what she did to Feyre, no matter how much I try. I cannot accept the way she talks to Feyre; the way she so obviously favours Elain and doesn’t even bother to apologize…”

Azriel is full on crying now and he finally admits to himself _why_ he truly cannot accept her, “I—I, too, know what it’s like, Cass. I’ve _been_ Feyre. I—I loved my brothers, too. They were monsters, yes, but I _loved them_. I thought they could get better. I convinced myself that they had reasons; understandable reasons.

“I sat each night and called myself a slut over and over again because that’s what my brothers loved to call me. I thought I was a useless piece of shit because they convinced me I was; because I never _fought back_. It was _easy_ for them to beat me down because no one was there to prove them wrong. And I know that, no matter how much Nesta beats her down, Feyre won’t fight back, because Nesta has done _such a good job_ of convincing Feyre that she’s worth less than both her and Elain…”

He has to stop and catch his breath, rasping. His shadows are flowing around his body, almost swallowing him whole. Cass has moved forward, standing right in front of him now. He reaches out and rests his hand on Azriel’s nape. “I understand, dear,” he says, and it lifts Azriel’s heart out of the bottom pits, “I _understand_ and I’m sorry for not…not trying to…for not seeing the connection. But I want…I want to speak with Feyre before…Feyre is the one who needs to hear this, not me.”

Azriel nods, he knows this already. But he couldn’t handle it. The thought of Cass trailing after Nesta, even when she lashes out and berates him. He needed him to know, to understand. He reaches out the hand opposite to Cass’s and lays it on his nape, as well. Cass’s eyes flicker up to his face. He opens his mouth but is interrupted by Feyre stepping out from the shadows. Azriel flinches, shadows reeling around his wrists.

“Yes,” Feyre says, her voice light and serene, “I need to hear it”

Cass turns to her, his stance protective. Azriel narrows his eyes at Cass. So unlike him. Feyre doesn’t seem to mind, or she doesn’t notice, and walks towards them. “Az…” she starts but falls silent. She stands staring at Azriel for a few seconds before she opens her mouth again. “After spending time with you and Cass, I started having doubts, but then Nesta and Elain came back into my life and I…I made a _promise_ , you see, and I cannot break it. I know that Nesta is cruel, _she is_ , but…”

“And here the excuses will come,” Azriel says, low, to not unnerve her. Feyre’s eyes flicker to his face and he sees the helplessness in them. “You’ll continue to give them,” he explains, “You’ll find excuses for Nesta and Elain and continue to give them, no matter how much they beat you down. They’ll eventually kill you, Feyre. Nothing will change, _believe me_ ”

Feyre’s eyes are glossy. Her hands are fisted in the sheer fabric of her dress and her throat bobs. She starts to nod but then shakes her head. She opens and closes her mouth multiple times. Then she throws Azriel a pleading glance. “Call for Rhys,” Azriel says softly, motioning for Cass to take off with him, “I think you need some time alone, right now”

Feyre nods. _Thank you_ , she says in their minds, leaving behind a soft, content feeling. She’d needed this talk, needed to hear something other than her own mind. Azriel gives her a short nod and flares his wings. Cass throws her a careful glance before taking off, too. Rhys is already there when they do.

 

-:-

 

Feyre had called for a meeting within the end of the day. All of them. This isn’t going to end well, Azriel just knows it. He’d had a meeting with one of his spies from Hybern, which lasted longer than anticipated. There wasn’t any steady flow of information, just large piles whenever the poor spy could manage to get away. He’d _just_ gotten enough time to stop by his apartment and change from his leathers and into something more comfortable. When he finally enters the town house, the air is already tense. Elain is sitting in one of the sofas beside Lucien, face white, and Nesta is standing in front of her; cold and unyielding.

Mor is opposite to them, stretching over the entire sofa, legs dangling over the edge. Azriel can’t help the small smile that slips onto his lips. Feyre is standing, Rhys and Cass on either side. Azriel takes position beside Amren, who is eyeing Nesta with interest.

Feyre clears her throat. All of their eyes move to her and the shadows feel the slight vibration in her body. She’s terrified. “Nesta, Elain,” she starts and Nesta is already angry, “We need you to help; to at least try…” Feyre falls silent far too quickly when she sees Nesta’s look of disgust and her eyes, desperate, go to Azriel. Azriel inclines his head, urging her to continue. Feyre takes a deep breath.

“I’m tired of you,” she finally says, and suddenly the shadows don’t pick up a trace of fear anymore, “I’m tired of your comments and the way you treat me, the way you’ve _always_ treated me” Nesta bristles, while Elain starts crying. Lucien throws her a look but remains still. _He’s loyal to Feyre_ , the shadows shout gleefully, _oh, and Rhys, too, look what we found in his mind…_ And they show him before he’s had time to protest. Azriel doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge.

“I understand that this change is difficult but, _honestly_ , can’t you at least make an effort?” Feyre’s voice is pleading again, and Azriel’s heart sings for his High Lady. His trusting, good-willed Lady. She’d never give up on them, even if she’d stood up for herself. She would never give up on anyone. Azriel cherishes that fact. Nesta doesn’t share the sentiment, though. Her eyes have only grown wilder.

“These filthy fae pigs don’t deserve…”

“THEN WHO DOES?”

Azriel has never seen Feyre this livid. Muscles are twitching on her face and her eyes are shining. Shining with the life of every fae in Velaris. Shining with the life of all their sacrifices. Shining with the life of those two fae she’d killed under the mountain. Azriel wraps a shadow around her wrist. His caring Lady. “Who deserves your help, _Nesta_? How do you know these people? Through gossip and fearful tales from beyond the Wall? I tell you, Nesta, those are _bullshit_.” Feyre stops to catch her breath, before continuing.

“Were you there when the fae suffered under the mountain? Were you there when I was forced to kill two of their beloved? Were you there when they wept for their freedom? Were you there when the borders around Velaris fell and the people threw themselves in front of the enemy to protect their loved ones? When _they_ were ready to sacrifice everything, so the queens possibly could save their people? _No, you weren’t_ , so don’t you dare judge these people and place yourself on a pedestal above them”

Nesta looks shocked. As if she’d never heard Feyre talk back to her like this before. Azriel feels a smug kind of satisfaction slide over him. Elain is only crying harder, clutching onto Lucien’s arm. Lucien is only looking at Feyre, though, and Rhys. _Uh oh_ , the shadows whisper. Azriel can’t be bothered to care. He’ll talk to Lucien about it later. “You will stay,” Feyre tells them both, now with the commanding voice of a High Lady, “and you will help, no matter how disgusting it makes you feel, because these people _deserve_ your efforts”

Nesta finally breaks her silence, but it’s not to sound understanding, no. Nesta has never been good at understanding anything but her own greed. “Don’t you think I already feel disgusting?” she hisses, “Surrounded by filthy, unnatural beings like _him_ —” she points an accusing finger at Azriel “—that can’t find better use of their time than to rut against their so-called-friend’s thigh like some low-life whore”

Everyone in the room stills. Azriel feels the breath leave his lungs. She’d seen them. His shadows explode behind him as panic overtakes his senses. _Bitch,_ the shadows shout silently at Nesta. The world around him turns blurry, the shadows unable to collect all his feelings.

That, between him and Cass, had been so private. So precious and possessive. That one moment he’d let himself go is now tainted by Nesta’s greed. _The others heard_ , the shadows cry, _now they know, Azriel_. He is close to choking. But he dares to look up. At them.

Cass’s muscles are wound tight, his eyes blazing. Rhys is watching her with an unreadable expression, mouth set in a thin line. Mor looks ready to set Nesta on fire, but it isn’t she who takes the first word. Azriel startles as a growl sounds in Feyre’s throat, so different than the low, submissive voice she usually has with Nesta. “Get out,” she snarls at the female, “ _Get the fuck out of my home before I rip your throat out_ ”

“I’m your sister!” Nesta cries, whirling around, “You can’t just—”

“No.” Feyre’s voice is cold, an underlying anger sending shivers up Azriel’s spine. “You’re not. And you just insulted my brother. I don’t take insults to my family lightly, Nesta. _Leave._ ”

Nesta turns to Cassian for help, but he just stares at her. “You heard my Lady,” he says, voice lifeless, “Out with you” Rhys has come up behind Feyre, a hand resting on her back. Azriel has no doubt that a silent conversation is happening between them. Nesta sniffs, gathers her skirts and walks. Amren slides up to Azriel, a hand on his shoulder. She hisses at Nesta as she passes.

The moment the door has closed behind her, Feyre breaks down in tears.

All of them immediately rush forward to hold her up, resulting in a partially awkward pile. “Thank you,” Feyre mutters, “for being there for me.” Mor just shakes her head and Amren tuts at her. Then Feyre looks at Azriel. “I’m _so, so_ sorry,” she whispers and Azriel withdraws; doesn’t want her to bring it up. He just shakes his head, but Feyre won’t let it go. “She had no right,” she says and Azriel can feel all their attention turn to him and Cass. Mor seems tense. “Are you two…” “No,” Azriel quickly cuts her off, “No”

She doesn’t seem to buy it but leaves it alone. _Cass is hurt by that_ , the shadows complain. Azriel doesn’t respond. Rhys’s look tells him that they’re going to speak of it later. Amren still has her nails digging into his arm, protective. “And you?” she says to Elain, who is sitting wide-eyed on the sofa, “Will you try to tear us down further?”

Elain starts shaking her head, and the shadows can tell that she hates the position she’s put Feyre in. “I’ll help, I swear,” she says, “I—I will” She looks ready to flee. Feyre gives her a grateful nod and Elain breathes out, relieved. “I’ll try to make it better,” she mutters, “I promise”

Azriel believes her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, say it with me now: Fuck Nesta. Honestly, Cass is just really confusing to write, but I hope I captured him well enough. As for Az's entire part, I tried to make it as realistic as possible, but if you think I handled Azriel's abuse and his retelling of it in a wrong manner, feel free to let me know. Also, a bit of foreshadowing here, but I won't tell you what it is because then what would be the point of it? Please, leave a comment and kudos if you liked this chapter.


	7. Hopelessness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I feel like this entire chapter is a bit stalling. It focuses more on characters and their problems than the actual plot. The next chapter will be more plot focused, I think, if everything goes as planned and Cassian doesn't elope on his own adventure. Enjoy!

They all start to file out of the room, Rhys sticking close to Feyre. Lucien’s eyes follow them. Azriel nearly laughs out loud at the utter ridiculousness. Amren pats Azriel’s arm, where her nails left marks, and leaves out the garden doors. Lucien stands and makes his way upstairs. Azriel means to follow but Cass steps into his path. “We need to talk,” he says and leaves no room for argument. Azriel flickers his eyes over to Lucien, motioning that he needs to follow, but Cass won’t have it.

“Are you ashamed of it?” Cass asks brusquely, “What we did together? That I made you feel good?”

“Of course not,” Azriel answers, and he feels his control slipping again. The shadows can sense Mor in the kitchen, listening. Cass stares at him, looking him up and down. Azriel tries not to squirm, shifting slightly. “Then why…” “I didn’t say I didn’t like it, Cass,” Azriel answers, his throat tight, “I just said we weren’t…together”

Cass rolls his eyes, an underlying anger still wound tight in his mouth, but his shoulders relax again. “So what’s this about Lucien?” he asks casually; too casually. Azriel nearly cries, but instead, he motions for Cass to follow him, and goes after Lucien. They corner him in his temporary room, his eyes widening at the sight of them. “What do you want?” he asks, voice thin.

Cass chuckles, but Azriel remains impassive. “When did it start?” he asks crossing his arms over his chest. “When did what start?” Lucien plays innocent, but the shadows see that his mind is guilty. “I mean, with Feyre it probably had to be in the Spring Court,” Azriel starts and Lucien flinches violently, “but with Rhys, I honestly have no…”

“Woah, woah,” Cass interrupts and holds up his hands, “What now?”

Azriel levels him with a look. Cass looks over at Lucien again, who looks like he’s considering jumping out the window. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answers, voice weak. Cass only seems more confused. “I apologize, Lucie,” Azriel sighs, “But my shadows get a little eager sometimes, snapping up things they shouldn’t know…”

Lucien’s face turns white, as if he’s about to vomit. “Look, it was just a crush back then…” he starts, then swallows, then flinches again. It finally seems to click for Cass. “OH!” he yells, pointing a finger at Lucien, who actually jumps backwards, hands up in defence. Cass’s hand and gleeful face falls. “Wait, _seriously_?” he asks, incredulous, “Both of ‘em? Goodness, your taste is abysmal, Lucie”

Lucien’s face goes from an impression of a ghost and straight to a very impressive imitation of a cooked lobster. “What do you want for your silence?” he pleads. “Tell them,” Azriel deadpans, and Cass howls with laughter. “You’re kidding,” Lucien says, “I can’t just…”

“And why not?” Azriel inquires, “I know for a fact that Rhys has spent multiple nights imagining your body underneath his. And Feyre…well, she had to have _something_ tolerable to be able to stay in the Spring Court for so long”

Cass raises his eyebrows, gaping. Not so far from Lucien’s expression. Azriel can see that Lucien is desperate to get out of the situation. “B—but Elain…” “Won’t mind. A mating bond isn’t a rule, you know”

Lucien seems lost for words. Cass lifts an eyebrow at Azriel. _Seriously_? Azriel just shrugs. Nesta’s outburst earlier and Cass’s reaction had burned him out. He just doesn’t care. It would be easier for Lucien, he knows, if he just told them and stopped churning the thoughts in his head. If he stopped trying to find things to blame on himself. _He feels unnatural_ , the shadows whisper to him, _abnormal and filthy for having feelings for both of them while he’s mated to the girl_.

“Things would be easier for you if you just dared to talk to the…” “As if you’re one to talk,” Lucien sneers, defences up. Azriel shrugs, angling away from him to not seem provocative. He swallows over the lump in his throat and shoves his anger down; deep, deep down. He is in Lucien’s exact position, so he won’t shame the other male. He’s about to leave, but then… “Careful, Little Fox,” Cass sneers, wings bristling.

By what the shadows tell Azriel, Cass doesn’t know that Lucien is talking about him. He thinks it’s about Mor. _Of fucking course._ Still, no hard feelings can overshadow the fierce protectiveness of Cassian. Azriel turns and lays a hand on his shoulder, tugging. Lucien scoffs when he sees it, but he won’t say anything, probably due to Azriel’s glare.

Azriel, luckily, manages to get Cass out of the room before he decides that Lucien would look good with a broken hand. “I need to rearrange the files from the new Spring Court reports,” he quickly says, “come help me”

A piss-poor excuse, but it’ll have to work. Cass just gives him a short nod, before taking the lead down the stairs again. Azriel sighs. This is going to be a long day. He catches up with Cass and claps him once on the shoulder. Cass throws a smile over his shoulder; reassures Azriel that he won’t throw himself into cruelty now.

They’re silent the entire way to his apartment. Azriel can’t decide if it’s awkward or not. They make casual small-talk when lining up the files, by date and connection to other info. But there’s still that silence between them. That silence that just won’t go away. The silence that always lingers whenever Cass has been on edge. And after 15 minutes, Azriel can’t take it anymore. “Cass, how do you _truly_ feel about the whole thing with Nesta?” he says, carefully. Cass falls still and then sighs. “I—I have affections for her—that’s true, but I…after what she said to Feyre…about you,” he seems lost, his eyes flickering and his face tight.

“Cass,” Azriel murmurs and reaches out a hand to touch his cheek. Cass looks up, eyes wide and filled with tears. Then he surges forward and within seconds he has Azriel pinned against the wall. His breath is hard on Azriel’s cheek, adding to the warmth blooming there. “Cass,” he says again, a thousand thoughts jumbling together in his head. He can’t _think_.

Cass leans in—and kisses him. It’s a soft kiss. The kind they often shared when they were just happy to see each other alive and safe. Azriel still gives a small, breathy moan, though. Just because it’s Cass doing this to him. Cass takes it as an invitation and deepens the kiss, a hand on either side of Azriel’s head, caging him in.

Azriel raises his hands and lays them on Cass’s abdomen, feels the strong muscle underneath. He sighs into the kiss, relaxing. The air around him turns scorching hot and his stomach doubles in on itself. Then Cass is pulling away. He leans his forehead against Azriel’s, his eyes going from Azriel’s eyes, down to his lips, and then up again. Azriel has to take three deep breaths before he can focus on anything but Cass’s warmth against him. “Cass,” he gasps out.

But then Cass backs off and leaves.

And leaves Azriel against the wall.

 

-:-

 

Azriel knocks on the door twice before Rhys opens it. He looks like a mess; hair standing in all directions and clothes hastily thrown on. “Brother?” he asks in a way of greeting, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re busy,” Azriel says as an answer. Rhys shakes his head and tugs Azriel inside. His room is a mess, as well. Clothes and papers and blades carelessly thrown around.

Azriel swallows his words and sends his shadows to investigate. _Good try, brother_ , is the answer he gets. He sighs as he feels Rhys’s smirk on his back. “You swore you’d come to us, _as your brothers_ ,” he says, “Whenever you had it difficult”

“I know,” Rhys mutters, comes up behind Azriel and lays his hands around his waist. “You wanted to talk, I presume?” he quips, rocking both of them from side to side. Azriel nods. “So, my shadows picked up something and I just needed to come to…” “Az, have you been prying in my brain again?” Rhys interrupts, spinning Azriel around to face him. “What dark secrets did you find? Can we just agree that your shadows need a bit of training?”

_Ah,_ his Rhys; always trying to joke away things. But he can’t handle the thought of Lucien pining for centuries and he wants Rhys to say it. Wants Rhys to admit to himself and Feyre what they could indulge themselves in. He pulls away.

 “My shadows don’t always pick up on useful stuff, Rhys,” Azriel sighs, “Do you have any idea what it feels like to know that somewhere in Velaris, a male likes having sword handles shoved up his arse?” The look Rhys sends him tells him enough. “So don’t get mad at me when I say that I know you’ve…entertained the idea of…” He can barely get the words out “…inviting another male into your and Feyre’s bed”

And there’s the growl. Azriel holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ve also noticed the way you glance at Lucien,” he continues, “and let me tell you, brother, you’re not very subtle” A small lie, but a necessary one. Rhys’s face is impassive for a moment before his eyebrows raise. “I’m a bit confused,” he breathes, “What are you after here?” Azriel shrugs. “Just thought you and Feyre might want to actually go after something the two of you want”

“You don’t know we _both_ want him”

“Oh, Rhysie, _I do_ ”

Rhys is quiet for a moment before he explodes in laughter, just at the same moment as Azriel. “Oh, how I love you brother,” Rhys says when he’s finally calmed down. “But, seriously, Feyre, too?” Azriel nods and Rhys gets a wondrous look in his eyes. He holds his breath as the shadows see him consider it. “I’ll need some time, I think,” Rhys finally says, “I’ll talk to Feyre, though”

Azriel nods once and then turns to leave, but a sliver of Rhys’s night holds onto his sleeve. His own shadows mingle with Rhys’s; they hiss and welcome at the same time. “You have some troubles of your own, brother,” Rhys says, a soft, caring tone taking over, “I told you we would talk.”

Azriel wants to deny it. Wants to shut Rhys down and tell him to fuck off. Wants to go home to scream and tear his apartment. And then what? He’d wake the next morning and go back to normal? Let Cass do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted? Pine like this forever? A knot ties itself tightly in his chest and he finds that he can’t handle this feeling of brokenness anymore.

So he turns back, lets the tears come to the surface and says, his voice breaking, “I don’t know what he wants from me”

Rhys rushes forward without a second thought, arms spread wide. Azriel goes into them as he always would to his mother. Rhys lets him cry on his shoulder, grasping him close. The sobs that he has always choked down are now choking him. His body is shaking, the sobs wreaking through it. Rhys’s shirt is turning damp beneath him, and yet his brother doesn’t seem to care very much.

“What Nesta said,” Rhys starts, “What she saw, were you two…?” “He had me on his thigh…on the floor, yes,” Azriel admits and it’s such a relief to finally speak to someone about it. To _finally_ admit it. Rhys gives a low whistle. “You should’ve invited me,” he jokes and Azriel chuckles. “He kissed me today,” he admits, “against the wall, it was really good…and then he just left.”

Rhys sighs; shoves Azriel’s face into his neck. “You know, Cass has always been bad at solving these kinds of things,” he says as Azriel inhales his scent, “he always acts first and asks later; most times he doesn’t even _ask_. He’s probably just as confused and upset as you, only that he doesn’t know how to confront you about it, so he just kisses you and…satisfies you in the only way he knows how to”

Azriel nods, can’t get the words out. He stays silent and lets Rhys rock him back and forth, stroking strong hands up and down his back. They stay like that for a while, until Azriel has finally calmed down. All of the time, Rhys is murmuring to him.

“It’ll be fine, brother dearest, it’ll be fine”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…Feyrhycien happened…It was not supposed to happen…I don’t know how it happened...and this is what happens when you have no control over your characters. I feel like I set up a direction and walled up all the other directions and the characters just hurtled themselves through that wall like wrecking balls and just kept walking.  
> Cass is being an idiot again, but what's new. Why am I dragging this out so much? I originally had just planned for 7 chapters, seriously, what the fuck?


	8. A Deal with the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I completely making these characters up? Yes. Does that stop me? Absolutely not. A more plot-driven storyline this chapter. Honestly, I feel like this was partially badly handled in the book (No shade against Sarah, everything she wrote was well within the lines of the plot and characterization, but I wanted to take a different route) Enjoy!

 Mor, sitting on the sofa, looks back and forth between Rhys and Azriel. “This is _that_ kind of important, isn’t it?” she says, arching an eyebrow. Rhys sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. Azriel’s body is tense, cold. He’d anticipated this meeting for a long time; since that letter from the Court had arrived. With Keir’s demands.

Amren is sitting cross-legged on the table between them, eating grapes. They’ve left Elain and Lucien out in Velaris; this is a matter that just their Inner Circle should discuss.

“We need the Darkbringers,” Rhys starts, “To win this war.”

Mor sighs, hands clasped in her lap, as if she knew it would come to this. Cass inches closer to her; a glance from Mor telling him that she appreciates it. Feyre holds out a hand, palm up, if Mor would ever want to hold it. Mor immediately grabs it. Swallows. She nods to Rhys, ready to listen.

“I’ve been trying to make a deal these past few weeks,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His tone tells Azriel enough about how those had gone. His shadows reach out and run over Rhys’s back and Rhys, surprisingly, lets Azriel feel him.

Uncontrollable fear and hopelessness washes over him; drags him down. He dives into the pits of Rhys’s mind, sorting through the memories. Azriel already knows all of it. What he doesn’t know is that helpless fear and that endless need to _protect,_ to keep Mor away from her abuser and now, with the war, not being able to hold up on that. Of course, he’d always wanted to protect Mor, but never as much as Rhys. Rhys, who would rather die than see Mor suffer at the hands of her father. Rhys, who would gladly endure fifty more years of Amarantha, if it meant keeping the rest of them safe.

Azriel keeps his eyes on Mor but sends a shadow into Rhys’s palm, makes it squeeze like a supporting hand. Rhys sends him an appreciative glance. Mor takes a few deep breaths and Azriel aches to pull her close. To erase that dread that is now settling in her eyes and body.

“What does my father want?” she asks, her voice thin and quiet. Cass has a hand on her shoulder now. Rhys opens his mouth and Azriel braces himself. “He wants access to Velaris,” Rhys says, eyes unwavering. The very _air_ falls unbelievably still. They’re all looking at Mor. Her mouth is parted, her eyes flickering. She’s gripping Feyre’s hand so tightly that her fingers are white. “ _No_ ,” she rasps, “ _No, you cannot_ ”

Her breaths are coming fast and short, her hands shaking. Rhys is on his knees in front of her in a second, a hand on her knee; anchoring her. Both Azriel and Amren inch closer, too. Azriel is unsure of what to do; he won’t even send out his shadows. Doesn’t know how Mor would react to it. “Breathe,” Rhys tells her, locking eyes with her; holds it. “Breathe, Morrigan”

She does. Slowly, her hands stop shaking. “You can’t,” she says again. her eyes are still wide, her lips still trembling uncontrollably. Feyre moves her hand into Mor’s lap, so it’s more comfortable for her. “Then we won’t,” Rhys answers, no doubt or hesitation in his tone, “If you don’t want it, we won’t do it”

Mor lets out a shuddering breath and slumps against Rhys, as if she finally allowed herself to be tired and vulnerable. Rhys catches her, but still doesn’t have any sharp movements; handling Mor with care. “Thank you,” she says, “ _Thank you_ ”

“No”

Rhys’s answer is fast; still without hesitation. “Don’t thank me for it; _never_ thank me for this,” he says, hands going up around Mor. Feyre’s hand is crushed between the two, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Azriel drifts closer to them, as both Amren and Cass do. They all collect around Mor, all of them there for her. Her Inner Circle. Her family. Mor nods at Rhys before looking up at all of them.

She doesn’t even need to say _thank you_.

“We’ll just have to find another way,” Rhys says, as if it’s just that easy; a glance at Azriel. Azriel knows that Keir won’t surrender. He will have Velaris or nothing and fighting for anything else is an impossible task. But looking, now, at Mor’s relief, Azriel will find a way. Honour and image and _every goddamn thing_ be damned, he will find a way to keep Mor safe.

Azriel gives Rhys a curt nod, before turning around and leaving. He can feel Mor’s stare burning into his back, but he doesn’t turn. He needs to find a way.

His first stop will be the Court of Nightmares.

 

-:-

 

Azriel stalks through the halls of Nightmares, avoiding males and females who always let their hands wander. They’re attracted to his darkness; to those shadows that cling to him. They want to lay him bare and see what those shadows can do. Azriel nearly throws up at the looks they always send him.

He barely meets Keir, though, and that monster of a wife. He doesn’t catch sight of his sons either. Keir had always guarded them closely whenever the Inner Circle came for a visit. Rhys and Mor have also been sure to keep them away. The only thing Azriel has gotten to know is that there’s three of them. Of course, he’s found out more on his own, later.

He spends a few hours in the lower levels of the Court, where Keir’s favourites live. The kind of people who can’t fall asleep without tortured screams echoing in their ears. None of them will give him anything, though; He almost got something from a male whose hands lingered on his waist, but it ended up being just lies; to try and get the Shadowsinger into his bed.

Azriel stops and leans against a wall, sighs. He will get nothing like this, and he can’t ask too closely, lest he wants Keir to find out that he’s asking around. And then Keir will know they’re desperate, that they’re trying to ruse him. Azriel sends thousands of different ideas through his brain, trying to find a way out of this mess. Keir’s demands seem alluring at this point. If they can make Velaris available and unavailable at the same time…No, not if it means sacrificing Mor’s safe place.

He groans and runs a hand through his hair, opting to step away from the wall and start his way up again. A female calls out for him, but he ignores her and keeps walking. When she realizes she won’t get him through seduction, she throws a jeer after him, which he also ignores.

Eyes follow him as he makes his way out, the thoughts behind them clear; as if they’re shouting at him. These degenerates think they’re better than him, just because he’s not of a pure birth. Nonetheless, they’re still desperate for him, pouring secrets and rumours over him just to get a glance at his scars and shadows. Azriel wonders what he can make this Court if he uses all the secrets he’s learned against them. He can make them kneel and cower before him, turn them into the pathetic suck-ups they are on the inside.

He’s so caught up in his anger and disgust, that he nearly barrels into the three males that come into his path. He screeches to a halt and stares, as he comes eye-to-eye with Mor’s three brothers. Anuie, Thrall, and Eallar. The three Monsters of Nightmares, they’re known as. Azriel isn’t surprised to find them down here.

Both Eallar and Thrall’s eyes are blazing, as they always are when they’ve been down in the torture chambers. As the two eldest, they both take too much after their father. Anuie, on the other hand, doesn’t have that usual look of cruelty to match his brothers’. On the contrary, he looks sick, with pale skin and dark smudges under his eyes. Azriel can scent the slight stench from his mouth. Vomit. How curious. “ _Shadowsinger_ ,” Thrall says, voice high and breathless, “What a _delight_ to meet you here”

So Thrall had been the one to wield the whip today. He’d always gotten a high rush from these kinds of activities. Rumour has it that it’s the only way he can get off. Azriel looks into those eyes, so much like Mor’s, but with a cruelty there that destroys them. Azriel only inclines his head, too much hatred in his throat to be able to even properly answer him.

Thrall chuckles. “How is our sister?” he asks, leaning on Eallar’s shoulder. They don’t really care, just want to get a reaction from him. Anuie perks up, attention immediately fixated on Azriel, as if he actually cares. Eallar’s eyes flicker to the younger boy, the distaste clear.

“She’s doing great,” Azriel answers, “Without you”

Thrall bristles, nostrils flaring. Eallar growls and takes a step forward, challenging. Azriel shouldn’t have let himself slip up like that but, looking at their faces, he couldn’t help himself. They stood idly by, watching, while Mor was tortured. If Mor’s memories were right, Thrall had given her a few scars himself. Azriel’s eyes slide…to the pale boy behind them, who Mor had never recalled in those dark memories.

A boy who now had vomited during torture.

Azriel keeps the boy’s stare, until his eyes flicker. Thrall and Eallar both growl, not used to being ignored in favour of their delicate little brother. “You seem to have a favour for the blonde bunch of us,” Eallar sneers, “On that topic, are you still helplessly pining after her?”

Ah, there it is.

Thrall cackles at the barb, throwing his head back. Anuie blushes and shuffles his feet. But Azriel just keeps the cool, neutral mask. “Piss off, would you?” he only answers, his heart growing colder and colder. Where he usually lets his anger get the best of him when Mor is involved, he’s cold with her brothers. He’s gotten too used to them. To their way of being.

Eallar grabs onto the still laughing Thrall and starts dragging him away, having seen the silent threat in Azriel’s eyes. They haven’t forgotten the gift Mor would give Azriel soon; very soon. “You’ll keep him entertained,” the male throws over his shoulder, “Won’t you Anuie?”

The younger male nods, not speaking. He starts walking down the hall, not even giving Azriel a sign to follow. Azriel doesn’t acknowledge it, just falls in line with him. Step by step, Anuie changes. His shoulders pull up from the slump to draw back, proudly. His steps get more and more confident, his hands going from clenched fists to a clasp behind his back. _An illusion_ , the shadows whisper, something like pity swarming through them, _Broken_. And then they shriek, reeling back. _Brat_ , they hiss.

Next to him, Anuie is smirking. Azriel tries to not let it show, but it unsettles him enough to shake him to his core. No one but Rhys, who had spent _years_ with them, had ever been able to fight the shadows like this. And even then, Rhys had taken a friendly approach to them. Played with and amused them. Nothing like what Anuie had done. The shadows are clinging around his waist and wrists, nursing their bruised pride.

Anuie’s smirk doesn’t at all fit with the words that come out of his mouth. “Is she truly happy?” he’s careful, as if he thinks Azriel’s monster mask is real, “Are you taking care of her?” When Azriel glances over he doesn’t see any of the cruelty that he usually has there, just longing for any sign that his sister is happy. “She’s fine,” Azriel answers, lets some warmth slip into those words, “She’s found her place, she’s content…Happy”

Anuie nods curtly, that seemingly being the only answer he needed. There’s something else going on, Azriel can sense it. Something Anuie won’t admit. Azriel lays a hand on the back of Anuie’s neck, in a supporting manner. Anuie’s face flashes with a grateful smile. Azriel keeps his hand there for the rest of the walk, until they reach a more secluded area. Azriel lets his hand drop from Anuie’s neck to his shoulder. Lets it linger there. Anuie’s eyes flicker to that hand, then back to Azriel’s face. A sharp intake of breath. “S—Sorry,” he stammers, “I’m already promised—”

Azriel crowds him up against the wall, donning that seductive mask that has left many males and females flushing. “She probably won’t care if I breach you in,” he mutters, leaning in to nip at Anuie’s ear. It feels disgusting. It surprises Azriel, how unnatural and horrible it feels, when it used to be so easy for him before. But he knows why. Because his mind keeps telling him that he’s betraying Cass in some way. That Cass will hate him for tumbling in another’s sheets.

But he also feels another kind of disgust. At using Anuie like this. Such disgust he’s never felt before in his immortal life. He draws back, about to call it off, when Anuie bursts into tears.

The male slumps against Azriel’s body, tears rolling down his cheeks. Azriel immediately pulls away, not far away to let him fall to the floor, but far enough so it won’t seem like…

Anuie clutches onto his arm, silent sobs hitting his chest. “Tell me more,” he begs, “Tell me about her. Gods, how I’ve missed her”

The words hit Azriel hard. He immediately makes up his mind that Anuie is lying, that Thrall and Eallar have laid a plan; a trap. Anuie can apparently see the doubt on Azriel’s face, because he clutches the Shadowsinger tighter and rambles on. The words almost spill out of the boy, feeding Azriel _so much_ new information. From time to time, the shadows search Anuie’s brain for credibility. _He speaks the truth_ , they whisper. By the time he’s done, the sun has set over the skies.

 “If only we could purge this Court,” Anuie says, tears still streaming, “And start it over”

And an idea forms in Azriel’s mind. It sits there churning for a few minutes, while he turns away to let Anuie wipe his tears in peace. He calculates missteps and consequences. How it will affect the two courts. How it will affect Mor. How it will affect the war. By the time Anuie’s face is clear of all red splotches, he has an acceptable base for a plan. Now, to set it in motion.

He turns back to Anuie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. Yes, all three of Mor's brothers are made up and I do not regret a single second of making these little shits up. Azriel's interactions with the Nightmare Court was honestly a lot of fun to write about. Please, leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed the story!


	9. Loyalty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long-ass chapter bc you all deserve it and the amount of Cazriel content in the last chapter was…minimal. I killed myself writing this bc I could NOT stop dragging things out

When Azriel has ensured Anuie is safe in his bed, out of reach from all the monsters living here, he sits watching over him until the sun rises over the mountain tops, mind still working on the plan. He weighs every option; every possible mistake and slip-up. Most of the time, though, his mind goes to Cassian. That kiss in the apartment, what happened afterwards. He misses him.

When Anuie starts to stir in the sheets, he raises and wanders the halls, feigning satisfaction and smugness. Let Thrall and Eallar think that Anuie had succeeded in his ordered seduction. Azriel and Anuie had already made up _secrets_ that Azriel would’ve spilled when they’d tangled in the sheets. Thrall and Eallar will be too caught up in their victory to realize that Azriel never spills secrets; especially not in the sheets. Azriel hopes it will keep Anuie out of his brothers’ claws for as long as it takes them to follow through with this plan.

He passes enough people to spur rumours to be whispered into Thrall and Eallar, even going as far as laying a limp in his walk around some of them. He goes into the dining hall, plucking small fruits and pastries from the plates. He can’t stomach anything else, with what he’s about to do. Anuie rushes into the room, a very convincing blush adorning his cheeks when he meets Azriel’s eyes. A heavy limp laid in his step, he goes to sit beside his brothers, hands fidgeting.

Thrall smirks at him from his seat, playing with his food. Probably gloating at his own _intelligence_ and _cleverness_. Eallar turns to Anuie and raises an eyebrow, waiting. Anuie starts stuttering—actually fucking _stuttering_ —the happenings of the previous night, blushing again when he recounts what Azriel _did to his body_. Thrall laughs cruelly at him once, and Anuie bows his head, face turning even redder.

Such a good actor.

Azriel is actually impressed by the male. He keeps going around the room, grabbing small pieces of food and conversing with random people. Then he leaves with one last smouldering gaze at Anuie, who blushes again but manages to return a detached smile. He saunters out of the room with Thrall and Eallar’s stares at his back.

Then he winnows, landing in a camp with dark skies and dark grounds. The air here is so _wrong_ , so _twisted_ and _destroyed_. His shadows scream at him to get out and away from this place, but he stays. Because he needs to get something done. He turns to the male behind him, who has already opened his mouth.

“We’ve been expecting you, Shadowsinger”

 

-:-

 

“I’ve found a way,” Azriel tells Rhys four days later, catching him by the elbow in the streets of Velaris. Both him and Feyre turn around to face the Shadowsinger. Rhys raises an eyebrow, hope shining in his eyes; a last, desperate solution. He’d been on edge the last few days, the time to deal with Keir shrinking more and more by the second. “How safe is it?” Feyre immediately asks, “Any fail factors?” “Minimal chance,” Azriel answers, crossing his arms, “Small risks, yes, but it’s worth it”

Both of them are silent for a few moments and Azriel has really started to hate their ability to have silent conversations with each other. Rhysand arches an eyebrow, seemingly responding to the look Feyre sent him. Azriel sighs and shifts, crossing his arms over his chest. Rhys glances to him and sends something to Feyre. She nods and then winnows away. “She’s gone to get Mor,” Rhys explains, shoving his hands in his pockets, “Tell me what’s going on”

Azriel only smiles at him. “It’s a new experience for you, then, being in the dark,” he teases, laughing when Rhys glares at him. Azriel lays his hand around Rhys’s waist and nudges him towards the Town House. Rhys sends him an exasperated look but obeys. “Don’t worry,” Azriel mutters, “It’ll work” “Never thought it wouldn’t,” Rhys answers.

They reach the Town House quickly. “Go inside,” Azriel says, letting go of the other male, “I’m picking someone up” Rhys’s eyes narrow; a hand shooting out to grip Azriel’s forearm. “What’s this?” he asks, suspicious. Azriel only grins and tugs his hand away. “Gather everyone,” he says before winnowing.

He lands in a small apartment on the edge of Velaris. It’s dusty due to lack of use, and the interior is minimalistic, but it had been enough. The curtains are still drawn over the window, on Azriel’s order, to keep Velaris a secret. Even if the other male had promised to keep them closed Azriel had lined some of his shadows into the walls, just to be safe. The male had kept his promise; desperate to obey, keeping the chance to meet her.

The bathroom door opens and a male steps out. “The air is so _clean_ here,” is the first thing he says. Azriel inclines his head. “Are you ready?” he asks, and the male stiffens. An excited nod. Azriel holds out his hand, and the male grabs it. Then they winnow.

 

-:-

 

When Azriel steps into the living room, he knows that Mor has learned of his actions in the Nightmare Court, if her glare is anything to go by. He hopes she hasn’t told anyone. “You found a way?” Amren asks, raising from her position on the floor. Azriel is shocked to see Nesta standing stiffly behind her. The female looks anywhere but the other fae present. Azriel nods, giving a glance to all of them. Cass won’t meet his eyes. So he knows. _Fucking fantastic_.

“I paid a visit to the Nightmare Court,” he starts, and a growl sounds from Mor. “Oh, did you now?” she sneers, crossing one leg over the other. Rhys arches an eyebrow at his cousin. “What’s got you so upset?” Feyre asks, making the question seem innocent. Mor just keeps glaring at Azriel, anger simmering in her eyes.

“Have I done anything to displease you?” Azriel asks carefully, knowing fully well what he _apparently_ did. Nesta snorts but falls silent at the glare Amren sends her way. Cassian still won’t look at him. Rhys sends the male a quizzical gaze but keeps his mouth shut. The silence is never ending. Feyre shifts awkwardly.

“You fucked my brother,” Mor finally says. Cassian is the only one, besides Azriel, who doesn’t react. Both Feyre and Rhys look genuinely confused, while Nesta can’t keep the disgust off her face. Azriel can’t help but throw his head back and laugh. It echoes around the room Amren startles at it, raising her eyebrows. “No,” Azriel says after a few seconds, “I didn’t”

Cass’s head jerks up, eyes hopeful. It shouldn’t, but it makes Azriel’s heart beat faster. Mor just keeps glaring. She leans forward, supporting her elbows on her knees. She doesn’t believe him. Azriel feels a sting of hurt at that. He wonders what he’s done, that Mor looks to when she just accepts that Azriel slept with Anuie. Mor is talking again.

“Anuie told _them_ ,” she spits, “He _detailed_ it to them, he…”

“Is  a very convincing actor”

Realization dawns on Mor’s face. She sits back again, a hand over her mouth. Feyre lays a supportive hand on her shoulder. Rhys is only grinning, having expected something like this. “Honestly, it’s impressive,” Azriel continues, “It’s no surprise we never _noticed_ ”

Cass chuckles, shoulders relaxing, before clapping Azriel on the shoulder. “What are you playing at, babybat?” Amren asks, voice low. Azriel tries not to bristle at the nickname, but Mor snorts. “I don’t see how pretending to bed Anuie should help,” Rhys comments. “He was ordered to do it by the two others,” Azriel says, “To try and get some secrets out of me—” all of them chuckle at the absurd idea of him giving a secret up “—and it was a nice cover, kept them from getting too suspicious.”

They fall silent. “Az, what have you done?” Cass asks, moving closer to trail a hand down his arm. It sends a shiver down Azriel’s spine, that slight touch setting his entire body screaming. That encounter with Anuie had ruffled him too much, and those four days without seeing the other male… It had been too much. He’ll probably go seeking Cass tonight, lingering around the warrior until he’ll snap and then…He hopes Cass will be rough with him; leave bruises that will last for days.

Azriel taps the wall, the sound loud enough. The wood boards creak out in the hallway and Mor’s eyes narrow. Cass shifts, angling himself between Azriel and the hallway. Azriel resists the urge to roll his eyes. Rhys has tensed, the humming of his powers filling the room. But it falls completely silent when Anuie steps into the room. Amren is instantly in front of Mor, whose eyes have gone wide.

Anuie shifts awkwardly, eyes never leaving Mor, trying to catch his sister’s attention. Mor is looking at Azriel, though. “You promised,” she says, voice shaking, “You _promised_ to not bring any of them here”

“Morrigan…” Anuie starts, taking a step forward, but Mor is up from the sofa with a roar. “ _How could you?_ ” she yells at Azriel, backing away from Anuie. Azriel feels something break in him at the sight of it; to know that _he_ did this to her. “Mor,” he says, swallowing, “Just listen”

“NO!” Mor screams, making Feyre flinch beside her, “No, he’s one of _them_! Get him out of here! I can’t stand it; they hurt me, they _hurt me_.”

Anuie swallows soundly, eyes wide and filled with sorrow. “I never did,” he whispers, “I _never_ would’ve hurt you, Morrigan” Mor turns to him, eyes blazing. She breathes deeply, her body still tense. Rhys and Feyre shift to place themselves between Mor and her brother and, by the looks on their faces, they know that it’s just for show. Somehow, they understand that Azriel would never do this to Mor and are more playing at making Mor feel safer. Azriel is infinitely grateful.

Mor starts shaking her head. “You never tried…you never _helped_ ,” she says, voice weak. Anuie’s posture slumps, tiredness seeping from his body. “I tried, Morrigan, _I did_ ,” he answers, supporting himself on a chair, “The day after they…took you in I—I tried…but they knew. I loved you, Morrigan, more than you can fathom. They barred me in one of the cells under the chamber where they… _kept_ you. Each night I heard you; _what they did to you_. And ever since you got out they’ve kept me there each time you come back to the court. I played their game, yes, I tried to fit in with them. But you; I could never lie about you. How I hated them for what they did. The only solace I had was those slight whispers that you were happy here. That you’d moved on from us. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Morrigan; For you to be happy”

Mor’s eyes are still steel. She glances at Azriel, silently ordering him to speak. “He let me rifle his mind,” Azriel says as an answer, “I saw his memories, and he speaks the truth”

Mor remains still, so does Anuie. They look so alike, both with the blonde hair and the brown eyes and the sharp bones. Feyre still has an arm hovering in the air between her and Mor; Amren is still angled between them; Cass is tense; Rhys is frozen across the room; Nesta doesn’t care. None of them move, afraid to break the tension or trigger a reaction.

Mor swallows and then sighs. Her eyes are glazed with tears. She angles herself towards her brother; extends a hand. “Come,” she says. Anuie rushes forward, grabbing her hand. Then he falls to his knees in front of her, gripping at her skirts, and leans his head on her stomach. Then he starts sobbing. Everyone else falls into comfortable positions again when Mor rests a hand on his hair and starts stroking. Everyone except Nesta, of course, who just keeps glaring.

She lets Anuie continue but shifts her attention to Azriel. “And your plan?” she asks, voice rough. Rhys inclines his head, as well, and Azriel chuckles. The first time Rhys has no idea what’s going on. “You know who Keir put in charge of the Darkbringers when he was too lazy to do it himself?” he asks, lets her have a few seconds to figure it out.

Mor looks back down at Anuie, tugging at his hair to get his attention. When Anuie finally meets her eyes, she rests a hand on his cheek. “You have…footing in the Darkbringer camps?” she asks silently. Anuie nods. “They respect me, probably more than Keir,” he answers, “And I—I have—” a blush on his cheeks “— _someone_ there, who _they_ follow, who will follow me to the end”

“These past few days, we’ve planted seeds,” Azriel takes over, taking comfort in the hand Cass places between his wings, “Placed doubt in Keir, rallying them against him. Apparently, only a few promises can change their allegiances quickly enough”

Mor’s eyes widen and Anuie nods as if she’d asked him about it. “The legions are loyal to you now,” Anuie says, “Every last one of them” “What did you promise them?” Mor asks, breathless. Anuie’s eyes hold hers, shining with affection and tears. “A better life”

“You mean all two thousand of them?” Rhys asks, disbelieving. Azriel nods. “They’re willing to get rid of Keir by whatever means necessary,” he says, careful not to sound _too_ happy about it, “if Mor wishes to take the Court”

Everyone turns to the female again. Slowly, she raises up from her slump, shoulders drawn back and her face laced with pride. She swallows, shifting her hands to her brother’s shoulder. “Come destroy the Court with me,” she says to him, eyes blazing, “Let’s turn it to rubble and dust. Let’s _remake_ it. Get rid of all the Nightmares. Let the Night Court become a court of dreams and nothing more. We won’t kill them, though,—” she looks to Cass and Azriel “—They’re my gift to you two”

Finally. It’s finally happening. They’re finally getting rid of the monsters. Purging them from the world. Azriel can feel Cass’s body beside his, buzzing with excitement. A cruel smile creeps onto Cassian’s lips. Azriel dons one to match. Nesta stiffens where she stands, as if it’s the first time she’s seen this side of Cassian. And that she doesn’t like it.

Cassian mimics a bow. “Thank you for the _generous_ gift, milady,” he says, his voice carrying a promise of what he’s going to do. Of how much he’s going to make them suffer. Azriel inclines his head. “We’ll put it to good use,” he adds. Mor just nods to them before looking to Rhys. “You’ll come with us,” she says, “We’ll place them in the cells under the Court—no, the cell they tortured me in.”

Azriel has never seen Mor like this; eyes blazing with hatred and thirst for revenge. She wants them to face it—what they’d done to her. And then understand why they face consequence for it. Amren starts giggling and Feyre looks back and forth between the cousins, pride shining in her eyes.

“ Then we take the court,” Rhys says, smiling. Mor nods.

“And make it mine,” she finishes.

 

-:-

 

Azriel and Cass are the only ones staying behind. Mor only wants them there when they destroy her abusers. When they destroy _all_ their abusers. Azriel can’t keep still; paces in the living room. He can’t stop worrying about everything that can go wrong. She has Rhys and Feyre and freaking _Amren_ with her, but Azriel still can’t calm down.

What stops his pacing is Cass stepping straight into his path. Azriel grunts as he crashes into the other Illyrian’s chest. Cass’s hands shoot out to steady him, and Azriel can feel them on his arms, _burning him_. His breath stutters and his body goes rigid. The shadows creep over his body, trying to comfort and calm him.

Too suddenly, he’s overwhelmed by it all. The walls press in on him, the space around him becoming unbelievably tiny; his breath comes too fast and his _very skin_ becomes too tight. Choking him. His vision starts to swim.

Mor is in danger. Rhys is in danger. Amren is in danger. Feyre is in danger. And he’s stuck here. Can’t help them. He should know— _does know_ —that they can defend themselves. That they have each other. But his head can’t wrap itself around it. Neither can it accept Cass’s hands on him. It shouldn’t happen. Shouldn’t be possible.

Then Cass pulls him closer, circling his arms around the other male. “Breathe,” he says, “You need to breathe, Az, calm down” Azriel sobs and tries to pull away, but Cass won’t let him. He only holds him tighter, shoving his face into his shoulder. Azriel inhales his scent as deeply as he can and lets himself lean heavily on the other male.

Then Cass winnows and they’re in the private space of Cass’s spare room in the house. Distantly, he can feel Cass rearranging him, moving him towards a more secluded— _safe_ —part of the room. The shadows cradle him, giving him a calm silence that only they can give him.

Cass starts threading his fingers through Azriel’s hair. Slowly, Azriel feels his breath slow down. Then tremors echo through his body, as his body finally relaxes. “There,” Cass mutters, so, so close to his ear. His skin burns again, but not like before. Now it just comforts him. Together, they sink down to the floor, Cass still holding Azriel against his chest.

“You’re okay, Az,” Cass mutters, “I’ve got you now, I’ll take care of you now”

Somehow, that sets something blazing in Azriel’s chest. Those words bury themselves in him and fester in his heart. And then he _needs_ Cass. Needs to have Cass closer; to feel him against his skin. To have his _lips_ … He can’t control himself. He raises his head and presses his lips to Cass’s. The other male tenses before he tugs Azriel closer.

“You do such cruel things to me, Az,” Cass groans once they break apart and Azriel isn’t sure he can breathe. Cass starts to rearrange Azriel, tugging the Shadowsinger into his lap. Normally, Azriel would never let anyone handle him like this. But Cass is different; special.

“When I first heard those rumours.” Cass breaks off in laughter, and there’s something over his movements now. Something _feral_. “I wanted to go to that blasted court and kill that bastard myself. He should know not to touch you; you’re _mine_ ”

Azriel’s mind starts reeling. First with heat, that flushes his skin and makes his breath heavy. That Cass would lay such a _claim_ over him. And then, through the Shadows, with wonder as to _why_ Cass feels the need to claim him. Why he’s so aggressive about it. And then Azriel sends those thoughts away, not even daring to think of them. “Yes,” he says instead, low and steady, “I’m _yours_ ”

Cass hums in approval before he lays Azriel’s head under his chin and starts massaging his wings. Surprisingly, it doesn’t affect Azriel how he thought it would. It starts a warmth in his belly, but not a scorching and desperate one. Instead, it’s some kind of contentment. Like he can finally relax because Cass is there watching over him and won’t let anyone hurt him. Azriel can’t afford to think about what it means.

They stay like that until they hear footsteps down in the living room. It’s been hours. Azriel tears himself away from that safety and warmth and his body _screams_ in protest, wants to stay there longer. By the look in his eyes, Cass shares the sentiment. Azriel wants to do nothing more than to crawl back and lay in his embrace for a few more minutes. Instead, he opens the door.

Mor is in the hallway, leaning against Anuie. Blood is splattered up her otherwise white dress, and her arm is sloppily bandaged. Azriel is instantly alert, hurrying towards her. Mor shakes her head, already knowing his intent. She’s not hurt too badly. “It’s all from my father’s most loyal ones,” she says, grinning, “You should’ve seen his face when we came for him”

Azriel grins right back as Cass comes out behind him. “The Court is hers now,” Anuie says, noting the manner Azriel is sure he’s looking at her in. His grip on Mor’s waist tightens. “They’re all shut in the cell. Thrall wouldn’t stop screaming about our _lack of respect_ ”

Cass chuckles as he comes up closer behind Azriel and holds onto his hips; starts rubbing his thumbs in circles. Azriel almost jumps beneath the touch but manages to remain silent. Cass is possessive again. Only the Mother knows why. Mor raises a quizzical eyebrow and Anuie smiles slightly at the sight. Azriel feels blood rushing to his cheeks.

“What will you do with the Court?” Azriel asks in a desperate attempt to distract them. Mor’s eyes snap up from where they were focused on Cass’s hands. Anuie’s don’t. Azriel isn’t sure how he feels about it. After what feels like an eternity, Mor speaks.

“The Nightmare Court…It will be a place of healing now,” she says, “Of recovery and the _destruction_ of Nightmares”

And Azriel feels that it’s _right_. That this is what the Night Court was always intended to be. That something finally has fallen into place. Cass crowds against him, resting his head on Azriel’s shoulder.

Azriel barely notices, with the look Mor is levelling him. “I want you to make Thrall and Keir suffer,” she simply says before turning her attention to Cassian, “My mother and Eallar is yours”

Both of them swell with pride. At this wonderful female in front of them. Who will take the Nightmare Court and save it from itself. Who will _change_ it, after years of it being a monstrous place.

“It’s going to a long process,” Mor says, “We’re going to get rid of the torture chambers; we’re going to turn punishment into rehabilitation—throw out all the monsters and give place for the dreamers. We’ll rule it greatly and drop that façade we’ve put up. Don’t let them see what the Night Court _has been._ Let them see everything the Night Court _can_ _be_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the moral of this chapter is basically: Anuie needs to be protected and so does Az. When will Cassian stop being confusing? Never.  
> Leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> Okay, so I want to know what y'all would think about me uploading chapters whenever I'm finished with them. Bc this chapter was finished on Monday and I could've just posted it then, but the upload schedule wouldn't allow it, and I feel like the updates are going a bit slow. Of course, the drawbacks would be that it's a bit unpredictable when the chapters will be up. I can promise that there will be at least one chapter per week, but I still want ur opinion.


	10. Time Passes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A basic summary of this chapter: TIME SKIPS ALL OVER THE PLACE!  
> Honestly, I feel like if I didn’t brush over these things, it would just drag things out and take focus away from the main story, which is Azriel and Cass’s relationship.  
> The updates will now be according to when I finish the chapters

“The Cauldron made you a seer,” Azriel says to Elain, who’s sitting wide-eyed on the sofa. Elain gasps softly and grabs his hand, clutching it tightly. _Sh_ _e’s scared_ , the shadows say. His mind is racing, trying to decipher everything that was just revealed. A Mortal Queen in the Continent; cursed, probably. And she must be important for Elain to get a vision of her. They needed the Queen, Azriel was sure.

He squeezes her hand once and then stands up, making to move away, but she clutches on tighter. “It’s messy,” she says, eyes flickering, “I don’t know what to do with it—I don’t…” “It’ll get better,” Azriel says, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, “Over time, it’ll fade into the background and you’ll learn how to sort it out”

She manages to let go, then. Azriel retreat to Cass, whose face is drawn tight. When Azriel reaches him, Cass lays his hand on the small of his back, tightening possessively. Azriel glares at him, but the male refuses to acknowledge it. Instead, he starts rubbing his fingers. Azriel sighs and shifts his attention to the rest of the group.

“We need to go find this Queen,” he says, “Who will go?”

Mor hasn’t even opened her mouth before Rhys shakes his head at her. “You’re too valuable now, Mor, as the ruler of the Nightmare Court,” he says, “It’ll discourage the Darkbringers.”

Mor’s lips draw tight, but she takes a few seconds to reconsider. Then she nods at her cousin. “Neither can you and Feyre,” Amren adds, “Not with the meeting coming up” Rhys nods absentmindedly, already aware. “I can go,” Anuie suggests, but he’s immediately shot down by Mor.

“There’s no way I’m losing you again,” she sneers at him, and that’s the end of that discussion.

Sending away Amren and her powers isn’t an option either, Azriel decides. So, it was easy then. “It has to be me,” he says, and everyone looks to him. “I’m the one who’s best suited for it, anyways,” he reasons. Rhys nods, cogs probably moving in his head already, laying a plan on how to fill in the new empty spots in his battle strategies. Elain swallows tightly, as if she doesn’t want this conversation to happen. Mor looks like she’s about to protest, but Cass beats her to it.

“You’re not leaving,” he sneers.

Azriel whips around. “What the hell is your problem?” he hisses, shoving Cass’s hand off him. Cass doesn’t react, just keeps staring. There’s ferocity lining his eyes and lips. “You’re not leaving,” he says again and, suddenly, Azriel feels his own fury rise to answer Cass’s. It’s been tiring, these past few days, to have Cass constantly hovering around him, growling at _anything_ that could be deemed a threat. As if Azriel can’t protect himself.

Rhys sucks in a breath from behind him, as if sensing what is about to happen. Amren is already up from her chair. Cass growls at them both and Azriel can’t see anything but hot, red anger. “Would you _stop that_?” he says, raising his voice. Mor flinches. “I’m not defenceless, Cass, you don’t need to…”

Cass steps closer; one hand grabbing onto his wrist, and the other his hip. “You. Are. Not. Leaving,” he says, dangerously calm. The air goes out of Azriel’s lungs and all he can think of is Cass’s breath hitting his cheek and the pure _possessiveness_ in his eyes. An all-too-familiar warmth rises on his cheeks. Cass squeezes his hip, tugging, but Azriel stands perfectly still. Can’t get himself to move to Cass with the others here. Cass clicks his tongue, annoyed. Luckily, Elain grabs the chance to break the silence. “I want to go,” she says.

Feyre is immediately at her side. Nesta has frozen in place. “I don’t think…” Mor starts, but Elain raises a hand to silence her. “I’m the one who gets visions of her, right? I can get to her faster, probably, and—” She pauses, wringing her hands, “—I want to help. Do more for you. For all of you”

Azriel’s heart grows warm at that. At the hope and determination in her eyes. Cass’s attention goes to her, as well, even if his grip on Azriel remains. “You’ve never been much outside, though,” he says, “It’ll be difficult; could take longer time” Elain lowers her eyes, dejected. “I could ask one of the twins to go with you,” Azriel offers, the idea coming randomly to him. “They have a direct connection to me, so if there should be any problem I’ll know straight away. Plus, they know enough about survival”

Rhys takes a few moments to consider. “Which one of them?” he finally asks, and Elain lights up. Nesta is shaking her head, not believing that this is actually happening. “Cerridwen is the one most experienced with long travels,” Azriel answers, trying to seem as serious as possible, made difficult by Cass’s tight grip, “She has also become quite attached to Elain; wouldn’t pass up a chance to stay close to her”

Rhys nods and looks to Feyre. Feyre shrugs, letting the final decision go to Elain, who’s buzzing with excitement. It’s the first time she’s actually been tasked with responsibility like this, Azriel realizes. Lucien sits quietly by their side, eyebrows narrowing. Then, they all exchange nods, mutual agreement. Elain will leave. “NO!” Nesta suddenly screams, eyes wild, “No, you can’t leave. _You can’t_! How can even _you_ —” she whips around and points at Lucien “—let her go? Aren’t you supposed to _protect her_?”

Lucien raises an eyebrow. “I can’t _let her_?” he asks lightly, “Last time I checked, it’s not my decision to make, Nesta.”

Nesta gapes at him.

Azriel raises an eyebrow at Rhys and pushes his mind against the other male’s. _Been giving him lessons?_ , he asks when Rhys opens up. Rhys just chuckles. Feyre smiles, halfway at Rhys and halfway at Lucien. Elain beams at Lucien. “It’s decided then,” she says.

And it is.

 

-:-

 

Nesta had raged for days, but no matter how much she had screamed and begged, Elain wouldn’t yield. Cerridwen had happily agreed to join Elain and hadn’t even flinched when Nesta threw insults and curses at her. Feyre had banished Nesta from the house for good, though. Elain had been curious when Feyre had helped her into Illyrian leathers, pulling and shifting at straps. “Curious,” was all she’d said. Then they’d been off.

The next few weeks pass by too quickly for Azriel. Cass still pulls him into hallways and behind houses to kiss him silly, but there’s more time between each kiss. They’re both pulled away from each other, problems at every turn. Azriel is ashamed to say that he appreciates it. It gives less time for actually talking about what’s been happening between them. How soft and intimate it has become. How Cass can’t seem to control himself around Azriel anymore.

Taking over the Nightmare Court is a slow and difficult trial. They’ve already handled the bigger, more important parts, but the rest will have to wait until the war is finished. If they survive it. Cleaning out the lower levels and changing the torture cells had to come last because they simply didn’t have the necessary resources.  

Azriel kept training Feyre, slowly making progress. Even if there was much piled against her, she’d kept trying. She was such a fighter, his High Lady.

Anuie went back to the Hewn City, ruling on Mor's place and keeping the Court and renovations under control.

The attack on the Summer Court happened and they’d rushed to defend it. The battle was long and hard; many got hurt. Azriel had kept his shadows close to his family during the entire thing but had been unable to actually help them. He’d been unable to stop worrying until Cass was back in his arms. Azriel had sunk to his knees for Cass, then, and had made him moan. Cass had twisted his fingers in Azriel’s hair and told him how _good he was,_ and it was all Azriel had needed.

Then, finally, Mor gets the High Lords to stop acting like children. “We’ll leave shortly,” Rhys tells him, “Give me everything on the Dawn Court”

Azriel nods and tries to ignore how Rhys is staring intensely at Cass, who is lounging on the bed behind him. His shirt is off. It’d been too hot, he’d complained when Azriel had protested. Azriel’s face warms when Rhys wiggles his eyebrows, but he still only sneers and shoves Rhys out the door. Rhys’s laugh echoes through the house.

Azriel goes around the room, picking up every map and file on the Dawn Court he’s stored in the house. Luckily, he doesn’t need to go to his own apartment, as only the most important files are there. Cass’s eyes follow him as he stumbles around the room.

“You want to help, or are you just going to stare?” Azriel finally asks, trying not to sound too pleased at the attention Cass is giving him. Cass scoffs and leans back into the pillows. “I’m quite comfortable where I am,” he says before catching his lower lip between his teeth. Warmth rushes to Azriel’s face at the sight.

He pulls out some completely irrelevant files, just to distract himself from the look Cass sends him and the images it places in his head. Still, he can’t keep up the ruse long and finally sits down on the bedside Cass. He can’t bring himself to lay down next to him. Not with his mind in the gutter. Cass groans and pulls himself up, scooting closer to Azriel.

Mor comes sauntering into the room before he can do anything, though. Azriel tries not to notice the way Cass slumps when his attention immediately goes to her. “Mor,” he greets her. She has a hand behind her back and when Azriel tries to investigate, he finds a shield of magic around it. Cass tenses when she comes closer to them and Azriel rolls his eyes. Mor smiles knowingly.

“I want to thank you,” she says, “For always following me, even if I don’t deserve it”

“You always deserve it,” Azriel quickly protests, ignoring Cass bristling behind him. Mor instantly looks uncomfortable, as well. Azriel silently curses himself for doing this. For always making these statements that bring his feelings out in the open. And it’s even worse now. Because he doesn’t even _know_ anymore. Ever since he first saw her, his feelings for Mor had been unrelenting; a steady weight in his heart that had ruled his actions.

But now…now they’re messy. Spinning out of control.

Sometimes he feels like he’s in love with her. Sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes his feelings for Cass takes over. Sometimes they both lie dormant. Sometimes they rage inside his head, battling each other. Azriel feels like he can’t breathe; like these feelings are taking him over. He feels his breath quicken, the air growing hot. He’s trapped between them, without chance of escape.

Mor clears her throat, defusing the tension. “Anyway,” she says, “I wanted to give you something and don’t protest, please”

She holds out her hand and fitted in her palm lies a small, black, fluffy kitten. Cass gasps. “His name’s Daeva,” Mor says as the small creature meows and sniffs the air. Azriel melts within seconds. He holds out his hands, taking the fragile form from Mor’s hands. He brings the kitten to his face, nuzzling into the fur. “Hello, Little One,” he mutters, the softness of his voice surprising even him. Daeva meows and licks at his nose, blue eyes wide.

Cass slides closer and lays a hand around Azriel’s waist, head on his shoulder. He reaches out one finger. Daeva sniffs it and then gives it a small lick. Cass chuckles. Azriel looks up at Mor, whose eyes are twinkling. “Thank you,” he whispers, unsure if his voice would be strong enough to sound louder. Mor just smiles. Daeva meows again, as if trying to catch his attention.

“Quite the whiner,” Azriel laughs, nosing at his forehead, “Aren’t you, Little One?”

Daeva places his paws on each of Azriel’s cheeks and meows before licking him again. A coo comes from Cass, and he lays himself closer along Azriel’s side. “So sweet,” he croons against the shell of his ear. And Azriel’s mind is in the gutter again.

Damn Cassian. Damn him to hell.

It takes them a few hours to collect and go through everything they need to know but by the time they need to leave, Azriel has a pretty clear idea. They decide to leave Nesta behind with Amren, not risking her insulting the other High Lords and destroying everything.

Rhys and Feyre have dressed the part, almost ethereal in their clothes. Both of them in night-sky black and blue, pale crowns on their heads. They’re the ones who’ve dressed up Lucien, too, if Azriel’s gut holds him true. Lucien’s hair is loose over his shoulders, except one braid that follows the left side of his scalp and spills out behind it, falling in a way that frames his face. A sheer, see-through shirt hangs off his shoulders, his pants tight over his muscular thighs; Both pieces of clothing a bright, shimmering white, in stark contrast to his skin. A pale star between Rhys and Feyre’s dark night.

All of them know what kind of message it sends.

Daeva is curled up on Azriel’s shoulder, sleeping. He has a few shadows on him to keep him steady. He’d learned to use them the hard way the first time Daeva had toppled over and landed hard on his thigh, claws out. Cass had found the display amusing. Currently, Cass has a hand slung around Azriel’s shoulder, grinning at Feyre. “You look lovely, sister dearest,” he says, and she answers with a wink.

“Off we go, then,” Mor says and makes to grab Azriel’s hand. Cass’s growl stops her. _Fucking Mother Above_ this is a mess. Mor raises an eyebrow at Azriel, letting him make the call. Azriel’s too tired to argue, so he just shrugs Cass’s arm off his shoulder and grabs Mor’s hand. _You’re making him upset_ , the shadows whine. _Serves him right_ , Azriel answers. Let Cass learn the hard way, he’s tired of trying to explain.

A sound of rushing wind fills his ears as they winnow to the Dawn Court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azriel's constant blush has made a grand return. I couldn't send Lucien away because that would just ruin the Feyrychien build-up. Az got a kitty-cat and no one is complaining.  
> Cass will be confronted about his overprotectiveness next chapter, I promise. We're all a bit tired of his shit at this point. We'll also (probably) get the reason for this overprotectiveness.  
> Thank you for reading and please leave a comment if you enjoyed the chapter!


	11. Arguments and Insults

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I hate myself? YES!  
> This chapter went by so quickly and I feel like everything in the story goes too quickly, as well.  
> So the entire thing is I plan to put a number of things and plotpoints in the story, but then one plotpoint takes up too much space and suddenly I have a full chapter... but I'm still pleased with this chapter, no worries. Short summary: Azriel is DONE with absolutely everyone. Someone please save this boy

They are met with warm air and soft sunlight. Azriel stumbles a bit, while the shadows withdraw and hiss. _Something wrong?_ , he asks absentmindedly, taking in the view. _Sunlight_ , they wheeze, _we hate sunlight_. _Is it we now?_ , Azriel inquires, amused. The shadows sing in agreement. _Help us, master_ , they gasp, playing now, _help us we’re dying_. Azriel chuckles and grasps Daeva, pulling him down and holding him in his hand, so that the shadows can withdraw and hide in his collar and cuffs.

Daeva meows once and twists in his palm, making himself comfortable. Azriel can’t bring himself to put Daeva down on the floor, so he just stands there awkwardly with a small ball of fluff in his hand. Cass steps close and pokes Daeva’s nose and then does the same to Azriel’s. “Sweetlings,” he says affectionately. Azriel flushes.

Rhys coughs behind them and an amused giggle comes from Feyre. Azriel tries very hard to suppress the blood rushing to his cheeks, making them even pinker. “Let’s go,” Mor says curtly. Cass tenses, a growl low in his throat. Azriel sighs. What kind of mess has he gotten himself into?

They enter Thesan’s palace.

While Rhys, Mor and Feyre are mingling with the present High Lords, Azriel pulls Cass to the side. The thoughts have been pressing in his head since Cass’s outburst in the House, confusing him and pulling him away from his usual calmness. He needs Cass _not_ to react; to not be protective. From how much he could offend them and from what he could imply about the two of them.

He wraps his shadows around them to keep them hidden. “Don’t act out while we’re here,” he says, letting no emotion slip through, “Rhys expects more of you” Cass’s eyes are still blazing, but he actually keeps himself from blowing up. “I’ll try,” he says, rubbing at his nape, “but if they insult you or try to hurt you, I don’t know what I’ll do”

Azriel sighs, rolling his eyes. “I’m can’t handle this anymore, Cass,” he says, letting Cass see how tired he is. Cass’s fires immediately die out. He tugs Azriel close and presses their lips together in a claiming kiss. Azriel sucks in a quick breath, a blush staining his cheeks, and Cass pulls back. He gives Azriel a roughish wink, licking his own lips. “I can’t _think_ when you’re close, Az, you make me feel so _alive_ ,” he mutters. Azriel can barely stifle a whimper. His skin grows hot and scorching, his heart speeding up. Azriel can’t understand why he finds it so arousing. He wants to reach for the other male, pull him into another kiss.

“Stop that,” he tells him instead, “You can’t keep doing things like these”

Cass stiffens, smile falling. Then he brushes past Azriel without even as much as a goodbye and steps out of the shadows. Azriel has to take a few seconds to calm himself. It’s some irrational part of his brain that’s _pleased_ with Cass’s actions; a part that’s never been there before. It sends him into overdrive. The shadows, again, push an idea at him, which he immediately dismisses. _Don’t get my hopes up_ , he growls at them. They just groan, exasperated. _Would you just listen for once?_ , they ask. _I always listen_ , Azriel muses before shutting them out.

The chairs are placed in a circle, small enough that they can speak comfortably, but wide enough to serve as protection. Thesan had really done a good job at preparing. A second chair had been placed by Rhys’s, to accommodate for Feyre, but Feyre had taken one look at them and snapped her fingers. Now there was one massive seat. “We share everything,” Feyre smiles when the High Lords raise their eyebrows. Rhys’s dramatics are starting to take root in her now. Azriel dreads the centuries of suffering that will bring.

It takes a while for the High Lords to actually arrive (Azriel will never get _not_ annoyed at Court politics). Viviane had had to ask ten times before Azriel had let her pet Daeva. She’d cooed the entire time and when Azriel had met Thesan’s eyes, the High Lord had smiled softly at him. What a sight; one of the most feared soldiers in history with a fluffy kitten resting on his shoulder. He’ll never live this down. Cass and Rhys’s smirks tell him _that_ much.

When they all, except Tamlin, actually are present they just start exchanging petty insults. He can see Lucien’s brothers having to physically restrain themselves from pouncing on their brother. Lucien sticks his tongue out at them, earning an amused glance from Rhys. So he’s going for the carefree route today. Azriel keeps a sliver of shadow close to him. Just to be sure. A headache starts pounding at his brow. It’s going to be a long day, he feels. What’s worse is that Cass won’t acknowledge him. _What do you expect?_ , the shadows scold, _You weren’t exactly serenading him, were you?_

They never know when to shut up.

Then the doors blow open and in steps Tamlin. Azriel doesn’t know whether to be pleased or beg for a quick death. Lucien stiffens, audibly swallowing and both Azriel instinctively has a shadow around his wrist. Tamlin glances quickly at the male but wisely chooses not to comment. But then he starts talking. Azriel silently thanks Feyre for having the patience he never would’ve had. He lets Daeva down on the arm of his chair because he’d started getting adventurous and Azriel feels like if he needs to move, he doesn’t want Daeva clinging onto him.

He manages to keep himself relatively calm for a while, but then Tamlin starts talking about the _sounds Feyre makes when she climaxes_ , Azriel’s fury rises to the surface. Feyre’s cheeks stain with colour and Rhys bristles beside her. There’s no way in hell Azriel’s going to let him get away with this. So he opens his mouth and very calmly says: “Be careful how you speak about my High Lady” Of course, Tamlin’s skull is too thick to hear the promise of death in his voice.

He rubs his temple when Tamlin’s drawling and insults grow on. He cannot fathom how he can be this self-centred. _Is he…is he serious?,_ the shadows ask, sounding actually confused, _or is he just intensely dense?_ Azriel, for the life of him, cannot find an answer. The shadows run off to inquire.

A cough sounds from Cass, as he tries to stifle a laugh, when the shadows ask him as well. And by the tears that are swelling in his eyes, Azriel has to listen in. He opens his mind to the shadows. _Please, dearest Cassian, tell us. We need to know. Is he stupid? Tell us, Cassian. Have we just misunderstood how intelligence is measured among his people?_ Azriel lines his throat with shadows to choke down the laugh that bubbles up. Then he pulls the shadows away from Cass. The male nods gratefully to him.

Azriel has to twist his shadows around his wrist and ankles to keep still when Tamlin digs into Rhys. His brother, his _dearest brother who has sacrificed everything,_ just stares at the other male, but Azriel wants to jump across the room and rip his throat out. He is _so fucking close_ to just decking the High Lord when his voice abruptly stops. Azriel will forever be grateful to Rhys.

He lets his shadows tell Rhys as much. He receives a tender, loving emotion in return. Rhys, luckily, manages to calm the meeting enough to hold a decent conversation. Azriel feels pride swell in his chest. By the look on their faces, Mor and Cass feel the same way. Rhys has always been a better male. But then, Beron calls out to Lucien, seated to Azriel’s left. Of course, these High Fae can’t go one second without including him in their drama.

“What do you have to say, Lucien?” Beron drawls, “How has the Night Court treated you?” Every eye turns to Lucien, who has frozen completely in his seat. His cheeks flush at the attention that has been brought to him, but he manages to get out a neutral “Decently”. Beron laughs roughly. “Any place is decent when you have a sweet, little mate there,” he says. Lucien flinches but doesn’t rise to the taunt. “You wanted my opinion on Rhys and Feyre, there you have it,” he says, voice not wavering even once, “They’ve treated me better than anyone ever has these last hundred years”

He doesn’t even glance at Tamlin while he speaks. Azriel doesn’t miss the fact that Lucien specified that it was Rhys and Feyre, or the use of Rhys’s nickname. By the arched eyebrows, the High Lords didn’t miss it either. Beron sneers.

“Are you ready to come home to your dearest family yet?” he asks, a smirk saying enough about what he means by that question. Lucien shrugs, nonchalant. “Are you ready to stop acting like dicks?”

He earns a laugh from Helion at that. The Lady of Autumn is rigid in her chair, hands clutching onto the arms. Beron just looks at Lucien, faint amusement on his face. Eris, on the other hand, is quickly glancing back and forth between Lucien and their mother. Surprisingly, it’s Rhys who starts talking. “He’s not coming to the Autumn Court soon,” he smirks, “Seeing as he is of my Court now”

“He’s barely spent months with you,” Beron loudly insists, “He belongs to us. I have _promised_ him to his brothers”

Eris takes a deep breath, fists clenching. So Eris had been expecting something like this, then. Helion is watching with interest, his body a lot tenser than before. Poor Lucien looks like he’s about to faint, breath coming short. Azriel sends a shadow to keep him steady, but also to whisper comforts in his ear. Lucien sends a grateful glance his way. It doesn't hide his panic, though.

Beron smirks down at his son, delighting in the fear in his eyes. Azriel wants to choke him and, all too suddenly, he’s thrust into his past. Cruel brothers and an even crueller father. Lucien, and his suffering, has been promised to his brothers. And they won’t show him mercy. Azriel cannot let that happen. He readies to rise from his chair, completely intent on putting Beron in his place. He’s stopped, though, by a savage snarl that echoes through the room.

Rhys has his teeth bared, wings flaring slightly behind him and body tensed with unreleased power. The following growl is a promise of what that power can do. Even without speaking, Rhys tells Beron exactly what he’s going to do if Lucien gets as much as a scratch. Beron doesn’t look too scared, though. Too bad for him. He should be.

“So you introduce the new tradition of _sharing_ your mate, now, _Lady_ Night?” Beron says, poison lacing his words. Lucien tenses; swallows. “I don’t need to _share_ Rhys,” Feyre answers, her voice serene and calm, and the shadows feel how Lucien’s pulse picks up, “Lucien belongs to us both. He is ours.”

Lucien’s cheeks turn a rosy red and he turns to look at them; they’re both smirking down at him, knowing where those words led his mind. They’d planned this; the two menaces. Rhys raises a few fingers to beckon Lucien over while Feyre shifts, making space for him on that humongous sofa they call a throne. Even Azriel can see the dominance and ownership in their movements. Doesn’t matter what Beron thinks; Lucien’s of the Night now.

Lucien’s flush creeps down to his neck, but he takes those steps up to the throne and places himself between the two, sinking into them perfectly, with his head on Feyre’s shoulder and his feet swung up into Rhys’s lap. Rhys runs a finger over his thigh. Eris raises an eyebrow, shifting to look over at his father. Beron looks like he’s about to explode.

“I don’t care if he’s playing whore for the two of you,” he hisses, “He’s my son, _it is my right…_ ”

“Excuse me, my Lords,” Azriel gracefully interrupts, “But I assume there’s a much more important issue at hand than petty, psychotic tendencies. So if we could perhaps put a muzzle on this madman…”

The room bursts into a confusing mess of laughter, protests and outrage. Ah, what a life he’s chosen. He can see Cass trying extremely hard not to break into laughter next to him. It takes them ten whole minutes to calm down and, even then, Helion’s light chuckle can be heard. Nobody seems ready to take steer of the conversation after.

“As Azriel was saying,” Lucien finally starts, voice surprisingly strong, “We have some pressing matters…” And then the discussion is up and running again. There’s some more idle chatter and Azriel feels like he can finally relax, but then Eris has to _fucking open his mouth._

Mor and he send insults back and forth, and Azriel is ready to let the shadows swallow him. All thoughts and worries of Mor come to the forefront, stiffening his spine and tensing his muscles. His mind only repeats _MorMorMorMor_ over and over again. He searches for clues in her eyes, her posture, her face, anything to suggest she's being pulled back to the past. But then Cass catches his eyes and he feels guilty because he has a _something_ going with Cass, but he can’t define it because Cass refuses to define it and his mind fights with itself, his head only filled with Mor and Cass and…

Eris calls Mor a slut.

And everything goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand there it is. Okay, so half of Az and Cass's confrontation is done, but the meeting took much more space than I had anticipated, like most of my plotpoints, but it'll be the main focus in the next chapter I PROMISE.  
> I could've made this chapter longer, but I feel like it was a good place to end it. Anticipation and pacing and shit.
> 
> So, Lucien is officially adopted now. I had a grand time writing the shadows this chapter, so please appreciate them.
> 
> If you enjoyed the chapter, please leave a comment!


	12. Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I just wanna say that even if the chapters have been coming out pretty quickly, this week, don't expect each chapter to come out at this pace. Next week is filled with work for school, with like three different texts that need to be delivered or started on, and I have an operation the week after that again, but I will try to write some stuff in advance, I'm pretty much free this weekend, so I can probably write a lot then.  
> Anyways, thanks for sticking with me through this story, I cannot begin to tell you how much it means to me!

He barely remembers moving. Doesn’t remember how he got Eris out of his chair. He can only remember the fury singing in his veins.

Rhys is in his mind, shouting. Cass is by the shield, pounding on it. _Stop_ , they’re begging him, _Azriel, stop_. He doesn’t listen. He drives his knee into Eris’s face. Hears something crack. Keeps going. There’s no pity or mercy in him. There’s only pure rage. Every hit is for Mor. Every kick is for Lucien. The shadows are egging him on, twisting around them in waves to keep Beron’s flames away.

Eris tries to say something, but Azriel sends shadows down his throat. Eris chokes, doubling over. Azriel jerks him up again by the hair before kicking him in the back, sending him sprawling. While he walks up to Eris’s heaving form, his eyes fleet over the others. Both Mor and Lucien look terrified. Azriel can’t bring himself to care. He grabs onto Eris’s body again.

Then Feyre is there by Cass’s side and an indescribable calm settles over him. she orders him to stop. He leans down to Eris. “You’re lucky my Lady is merciful,” he whispers, “Next time, she won’t be there to save your sorry ass” Eris shudders. Azriel turns to Feyre. He lets her bring down his shield. It doesn’t feel like a defeat. He lets her take his hand. Hers is warm in his. She leads him to her side. Cass follows behind them. She sits him down in his chair and hands him a glass of wine. Azriel accepts.

He won’t look at Mor. He won’t. Cass stays by his side the rest of the meeting. Azriel is gone through most of it. The shadows coddle him, covering his entire skin under his clothes. Daeva climbs into his lap and curls up there. It helps his mind a small amount. When they leave, Cass has to tug him up and lead him. Lucien flakes off somewhere, inquiring a courtier about something Azriel can’t bring himself to care about. His mind is empty; a yawning pit that keeps widening more and more.

He takes up position by the window immediately. Cass sits with Mor. Takes her feet up in his lap and starts massaging them. Neither of them will look at him. Azriel attempts to swallow the lump in his throat. He doesn’t care when Helion enters. Neither when he starts talking.

“You handing Eris’s ass to him will be my new fantasy at night, by the way,” Helion tells him after a while and his cheeks flush slightly, but he won’t acknowledge it. Cass, on the other hand, growls. And now Azriel wants to sink through the floor. Helion raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his face. Azriel only shrugs and shifts his attention away again.

They keep talking to each other. Azriel keeps staring. He’s so distant that he barely notices Rhys’s mind against his own. He refuses to open it up. Rhys lays against it for a few moments more before giving up and pulling away. Feyre attempts after him. He won’t open to her either. The shadows caress his collarbone, not even trying to enter his mind.

 Daeva starts a brave climb down his body, finding small junctures and small pockets to rest his paws. He starts off good, but then he misses a spot and it sends him sprawling to the floor. The shadows catch him and start scolding: _Be careful, Little One_. _I’m not sure he can understand you_ , Azriel tells them. They only huff. Somehow, it helps him out of his shell.

He readjusts his position, angling it more towards the others. Feyre sends him a small smile. He smiles back. His mind starts working again, no frantic explosions or overwhelming thoughts. Just calmness. He keeps his eyes on Daeva, who is struggling his way across the floor.

Mor starts flirting with Helion. Another way to show him that she’s not interested; and never will be. Azriel wants to scream at her because _he knows, goddamn it._ He knows she’ll never give him a chance. That it’s useless and hopeless. She doesn’t need to constantly remind him. Yet he only stands there, rigid.

 _What’s wrong?,_ Feyre suddenly says in his mind. He nearly flinches. He’d been so focused on Mor that he hadn’t put up barriers. _Nothing_ , he answers and that’s that. Feyre sends him a look as the door opens, intent on answering, but she falls silent when Lucien steps through it. At first, Azriel doesn’t get it but then the shadows whisper gleefully in his ear. He listens quietly. _Holy shit_. He glances at Rhys, arching an eyebrow. Rhys gives one, slow nod. Well, isn’t this a day of revelations.

Lucien freezes when Helion’s attention snaps to him. The High Lord of Day eyes the male closely, expression unreadable. “You’ve got quite the attitude, boy,” he says as a smile slips onto his lips. Lucien swallows. “ I hope that’s a compliment,” he manages to say. Helion chuckles before freezing up. Azriel almost lunges forward as Lucien’s face tightens in pain.

There’s some kind of power, a heavy stifling kind of air, that thrums through the room. Azriel knows all too well what it means. A curse breaking. The change happens in a second. Light flashes, momentarily blinding them, as Lucien collapses with a short cry. Then Helion is up from his seat, rushing forward. He barely manages to catch Lucien in time but when he does, Lucien clings to him. As a child would to a father. Azriel takes a few seconds to contemplate the irony of that statement.

Helion pulls Lucien away, though, and catches his hand between his palms. He stares. Something about Lucien has changed, Azriel can see. His face has gotten sharper in a way, higher cheekbones and more prominent eyes. Much more like Helion’s. The power that is now humming along Lucien’s body is also different now. More free; more natural. The Lady of Autumn, Azriel realizes, must have used all precautions necessary to ensure Lucien’s survival.

“My son,” Helion breathes, almost incredulously, as he brushes his thumb over Lucien’s scar, “ _By the mother_ , you’re my son”

Mor is up from the couch in seconds, tugging Cass towards the door. She doesn’t even glance at Azriel. He doesn’t care, he just follows them. He scoops up Daeva on his way. He sends a glance to Rhys over his shoulder, but the male only has his eyes on Lucien, where he’s cradled in Helion’s hands.

Mor is gone the moment they come out the door, quickly disappearing down the hall. Azriel considers following her, but Cass’s hand on his elbow stops him. The male starts tugging him in the other direction. “We need to talk,” he says. Azriel sighs but follows him.

 

-:-

 

Cass tugs him into their shared room. Shimmering, pink curtains have been thrown over the windows, dimming the sunlight. It also tints the sunlight, which makes it incredibly uncomfortable for Azriel’s eyes. Cass saunters over to the table, where various fruits and pastries are placed. Thesan certainly is generous. There’s even a small basket, filled with pillows, for Daeva by the table. Azriel follows Cass, placing Daeva down on the basket. The kitten starts playing with the soft material of the pillows, purring.

Azriel stands still until Cass starts moving, too. He traces a finger along the smooth surface of the table before gathering some fruits onto a plate and walks through the slight doorway into the bedchamber. Azriel quietly follows. _Tell me what he’s thinking,_ he orders the shadows. They return with nothing. _He has shields up_ , they complain, _we can’t get in_. So Cass knew that he would try to send the shadows. This does not look good.

He’d been prepared to speak with Cass about Mor, but not like this. He’d wanted to have control over the situation. To be the one leading it. But now Cass is taking charge, and it doesn’t seem like he’s willing to let Azriel take his position. He doesn’t know what kind of approach Cass will take, what he’ll bring into the light. His breath quickens, and his throat tightens. Damnit.

Cass sets the plate down on the bedside table and then turns to Azriel.

“You’ve never been able to let go, have you?” he asks, voice low and quiet. Azriel swallows. “You know how it is…” he starts but can’t go on. He just stares, finding it hard to breathe. Cass stares back, a hesitant smile and compassionate eyes. “I don’t need your pity, Cass,” Azriel quickly hisses, eager to leave this topic. Cass sighs.

“It’s not pity, Az,” he says, “But you can’t keep doing this. You _need_ to let go, or it’ll break you. You’re not only hurting Mor, you’re also hurting yourself. And I can’t stand seeing you hurt.”

“Yes,” Azriel replies coolly, “You’ve made that much clear”

Cass is instantly defensive. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel laughs. “You _know_ what I mean,” he answers, “You’ve been acting like a possessive asshole these past few weeks. Growling at anything that _moves_ , like I’m some kind maiden in need of defending. Why the hell do you do act like this?”

“I don’t know,” Cass answers, shoulders slumping; defeated. He steps closer to Azriel, laces their fingers together. “It’s just that whenever someone is close to you or tries to hurt you, I—My instincts tell me to protect you because they have _no right_ …” The last words are growled out, and Cass breaks off, taking deep breaths to calm himself. “I get this _need_ to make sure you’re all right; that you’re always _pleased_. And when you’re not…I—I’m scared, Az. Of what you do to me. That’s why I left you that day in the apartment; because everything was _too much_ and…”

Cass stops again, but Azriel doesn’t need to hear any more of it. He has a pretty clear idea, now, of what this is. Something he’s never allowed himself to consider. Something that had always seemed impossible. It was too much to hope for, so far-fetched that when the shadows had first suggested it he’d laughed at them. It’s still uncertain, but with Cass’s words…It can’t be. He can’t have this. He can’t. “Cass,” he breathes.

Cass leans in, their lips brush together, and Rhys chooses that moment to barge in the door.

Both of them jump, but neither make any indication of moving apart. Azriel’s cheek warm at that, but the shadows shout in glee. _He’s over the clouds that you’re finally not ashamed_. _I was never ashamed,_ Azriel argues. The shadows just hum. Rhys, hurtling forward, skids to a stop quickly, eyes going to Azriel and Cass, their position, their interlaced hands, Azriel’s reddened cheeks. “Oh,” he says.

“What do you want, Rhys?” Cass growls, laying his unoccupied hand around Azriel’s waist, causing Azriel to blink at him. Rhys smiles at the action. “Just wanted to tell you that Little Lucie has gone with Helion to get the Lady of Autumn and move her to safety,” he says, “And that Helion is now entirely set on sacrificing everything for us; as thanks for bringing him his _precious little sunbeam_ , his words not mine”

Cass just gives Rhys an unimpressed look, so Azriel has to chuckle for him. “I’m surprised you let Lucien leave your bed after your little show at the meeting,” he drawls. Rhys shrugs. “Took a bit of convincing, really”

Cass laughs, but it’s tense. As if he refuses to indulge Rhys. Rhys sheepishly puts his hands in his pockets, an unsure grin on his face. “Did I interrupt something?” he asks innocently, eyes flashing. Azriel’s cheeks flare with colour again. _Cassian likes that colour on you_ , the shadows tease, _He thinks it’s pretty_. Azriel tells them to shut up.

Instead of answering Cass removes his hand from Azriel’s hip and stretches it out to Rhys. “C’mere,” he mutters. Rhys does. He wraps his arms around both of them, leaning their foreheads together. Cass takes a deep breath but gratefully keeps himself calm. “Haven’t we come a long way?” Rhys mutters, “The three Illyrian bastards who everyone thought would be forgotten”

Azriel and Cass grin at the same time. “With your history of dramatics, there’s no way you’d be forgotten,” Cass snorts, earning snickers. “But it’s always been that way, hasn’t it?” Azriel muses, “Us three against the rest” “Do you remember how Rhys always would beat up _anyone_ who looked at us the wrong way?” Cass says. “Yeah, his pampered ass always got away with it,” Azriel adds. Rhys is rolling his eyes at them. “You hated me for it, though”

“No,” Azriel says softly, “Maybe we hated the rumours and looks it earned us, but we could never hate you. Never”

Tears are lining Rhys’s eyes. He lays his head down on Azriel’s shoulder and draws them tighter.

They wrap around each other, as they always would do in Windhaven. Arms go over backs and wings flare out to hide them, even if there’s no one else there. An old habit, from when they’d hid together when they were younger. Warmth thaws Azriel’s heart at the memory. The three of them are connected, in a way, and probably have been since birth. They were meant to find each other. They were brothers, truly, even if blood did not allow it.

Rhys’s first sob echoes through the room. It breaks all of their floodgates. And then they’re clutching onto each other and crying their eyes out. Azriel doesn’t know what’s brought this; Only that, at this moment, the love for his brothers overwhelms everything. Cass is doing those hilarious, choking sobs that make him sound like a dying whale, and Azriel is caught between tears and laughter at the sound. _You’re smiling_ , the shadows breathe, _you so rarely smile_. Somehow, it makes him cry even harder.

Their sobs hiccup and hitch, stuttering with exhaustion. Crying is so goddamn tiring. Azriel rubs his tears into Rhys’s expensive, and now ruined, shirt, relishing in the touch of his brothers. It’s been so long, _so long_ , since they’ve been like this. Since they’ve allowed themselves to cry on each other’s shoulders in such a pure, revealed way. It feels relieving, freeing in a way. Azriel takes deep gulps of breath, trying to regain some control. Eventually, the sobs come out shorter and fewer.

When their sobs calm completely, Rhys pulls slightly away, hands resting on each of their cheeks. Azriel leans into the touch, while Cass turns his head and kisses Rhys’s palm. “My _lovely_ brothers,” he says and they both blush, “You are my world”

Azriel and Cass glance at each other,

smile,

and then the mating bond snaps into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been ACHING to reveal this, you have no idea, guys. I had this planned since chapter 2 and through the entire thing I was like, "Am I being too obvious about it?" and "Should I reveal it now?" Next chapter will definitely have some 18+ content because I could finally get in the mood to write it, so that's great.
> 
> I love the Illyrian bros and wished we'd gotten more of them together on the books, so I just indulged in that a little.
> 
> Also, my autocorrect really wanted Beron to be named Byron for some reason, so please tell me if any wayward Byrons can be found.
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment, they're greatly appreciated!


	13. Make me Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No lie, I listened non-stop to Lana del Rey throughout most of the second half, because that's the kinda girl I am. This ended up being 1000 more words than I had planned, because you all deserve a proper cazriel lovefest. Hope you enjoy!

A roar shakes the walls and Rhys barely has time to pull away before Cass swings his fist at him.

Fortunately, Cass misses. Unfortunately, he quickly regains balance and goes hurtling for Rhys again. “ _Don’t you fucking touch him_ ,” he snarls. Rhys takes it all too well, dodging and blocking calmly without provocation. It still doesn’t calm Cass, though.

Azriel stumbles back, chest heaving. He can’t see anything but Cass’s face of rage. He can’t feel anything but his burning skin and raging heart. He can’t hear anything but his mind screaming at him. That one impossible thing that he never thought would be real. What had lingered in the back of his head thanks to the shadows. The reason Cass has been acting this way for weeks. _Mate, mate, mate._ Cassian is his mate.

The shadows are celebrating. _We knew it_ , they shout, making a mess of Azriel’s mind, _We spoke the truth and you wouldn’t listen to us!_. Azriel tells them to shut it, unable to form more proper words. He steadies himself with a hand on the bedside table, tries to calm the burning under his skin.

There’s a tug in his belly—some sort of call and demand. His body is shaking with the need, his throat tightening; Air escaping his lungs. A longing for touch on his skin. But not any touch. No. If Rhys touches him now, he will probably throw up. He needs… “Cass,” he whimpers, stretching a hand out to the male, “ _Cassian_ ”

Cass freezes instantly, fist inches from Rhys’s face. He slowly turns, and then he’s a whirl of movement as he rushes to Azriel. Even if his movements are rough and possessive, his touch is soft. He tugs Azriel against him, one arm around his waist, the other at his nape. When he draws in Cass’s scent, he can finally breathe. He collapses against his friend—his _mate_ —and deeply inhales. Cass’s lips travel along the shell of Azriel’s ear.

“Shit,” he mumbles, “ _Shit_ , Az, we’re…we’re mates”

The truth of those words settles in him. Rests heavy on his bones. Takes root in his heart. There’s nothing, now. Nothing but Cassian. “We’re mates,” Azriel echoes. It spurs Cass into action. He slowly and, _oh so_ , softly tugs Azriel’s head up. He forces Azriel to look into his eyes, which are warm and brimming with love. Azriel’s breath hitches. “My mate,” Cass says before he leans in.

The kiss is everything Azriel has ever dreamed of. It’s the softness of Cass’s lips against his own. It’s the roughness of Cass’s hands on his hips. It’s the warmth of Cass’s chest against his palm. It’s the soft moan that escapes his mouth. It’s Cass’s pleased, answering groan.

On the other hand, it’s not Rhys squealing and clapping. Cass breaks off the kiss and turns, growling, to his High Lord. Azriel, annoyingly, has to open his eyes. “You got anything to say, Rhysie?” Cass asks, rubbing at Azriel’s nape. Rhys eagerly shakes his head, a maniacal grin on his face. “No, no,” he says, sounding absolutely choked up, “I—I’m just so happy for you, you know. All I’ve ever wanted is for you two to find happiness and now you’re mates. It’s _amazing_.”

Azriel can’t help but smile at Rhys, whose eyes are now filled with tears. “Getting a bit sentimental?” he asks. Rhys nods, a hand going up over his mouth. Cass growls again. “Can you go be sentimental somewhere else?”

“Don’t be rude,” Azriel scolds, while Rhys’s smile grows. “By the Mother, you’re so sweet together. You know, I hoped you’d get together; I mean, I knew about Az’s feelings and with you, Cass, well, we got there eventually and just seeing you like this…I’m just extremely happy for you two”

His voice thins at the end, as if he’s talking through a build-up of tears. Even Cass melts at that. Much to Azriel’s dismay, he tears himself, and his warmth, away to guide Rhys out of the room. “We can talk later can’t we?” he says, surprisingly calm and kind, “Go rant to Feyre about this until we’ve talked things over, and then you’ll get to mother us”

It’s absurd, really. Cass comforting a near-sobbing Rhys while guiding him out the door so he can properly lay claim to his mate, who is _Azriel_. He’s sure that if someone were to tell Amren this, she’d laugh in their face and call them a terrible liar. Rhys is rambling, arms flailing out wide in that typically dramatic fashion of his.

“I’ll leave now, so you two just—just talk and make love and…just be happy” Azriel is pretty sure Rhysand is full-on sobbing at this point; stumbling over his own feet and glancing over his shoulder every other second. “I—I love you two, alright? Don’t growl at me like that, Cass, I love the two of you equally. I’m going to go to Feyre and cry into her shoulder now. I love you so, so—” He’s cut off by Cass shutting the door in his face.

Cass lets out a long sigh. “Glad to get _that_ out of the way,” he murmurs. He turns to Azriel, lets his eyes travel up and down his body. Azriel flushes. He opens his mouth in an attempt to speak, but nothing will come out. He can only watch as Cass comes closer. They hold eye contact the entire time. Cass comes to a stop in front of Azriel, closer than what has always been usual between them. He can feel Cass’s body warmth. His body sparks and tenses up, readying for…something Azriel doesn’t know what is.

“I’m starving,” Cass says, instantly breaking the tension.

Azriel slouches a bit, grateful. Cass always knows when to say what. How to make him comfortable. It’s like Cass knows his very mind. He shouldn’t be surprised at that. Because Cass is his mate. _His mate_. The male he’s always been destined to be with. The male he belongs to, and who belongs to him. It’s still unbelievable.

Instead of voicing his thoughts, he picks up one of the strawberries from Cass’s plate. He dips it in some orange-tainted sauce and presses it to Cass’s lips. “Eat,” he says. Cass keeps Azriel’s eyes for a few seconds before opening his mouth and taking a bite. His eyes are blazing. Promising a lovely future with him. Promising something entirely else tonight. Azriel’s cheek warm again.

Cass eats it slowly, bite by bite. When he’s finished, he licks the remaining juices from Azriel’s fingertips. Azriel feels a whimper catch in his throat. _Shit_ , only Cass can make him this weak at the knees. He picks up another piece of fruit, an orange this time, and dips it in the same sauce. Cass doesn’t hesitate when it’s brought to his lips. He obediently eats. He licks at Azriel’s fingertips every time, even if there isn’t any spill on them.

Azriel finds another strawberry and makes Cass take a bite.  

As Cass chews, Azriel goes to dip the strawberry in the sauce again but is stopped by Cass’s hand on his wrist. The strawberry drops down on the table. Azriel’s eyes snap up to the other male, breath caught. Cass smirks at him, teeth showing. He starts moving forward, forcing Azriel to back away. He raises an eyebrow, quizzically, as the warrior crowds him against the bed. Something about his posture, his movement, is different. Feral, in a way. His eyes move to the strawberry, abandoned on the table, and only _then_ does he realize.

“You accepted it,” Cass croons, “You accepted the bond, _love_ ”

His clothes are suddenly stifling; too much. He’ll need them off. He’ll need Cass’s hands on his body. He needs Cass _inside_ him. A stuttering moan makes it way out of Azriel’s mouth. He’s never felt this before; This burning and consuming _need_ of someone’s touch. Cass cups the back of his neck and tugs him closer to kiss him.

While he does, he slowly guides Azriel to sit down on the bed. Azriel has to spread his thighs when Cass kneels in the tiny space left on the bedside. Cass groans into the kiss. His hands go up and start unbuttoning Azriel’s leathers. Azriel gasps when Cass’s fingers come in contact with his bare skin. _Fuck_ , his entire body is buzzing. Begging for more.

He gasps even louder when Cass’s tongue drags along his lower lip. He opens his mouth, lets Cass slip his tongue inside. Cass purrs, pleased. He reaches behind Azriel and starts undoing the laces that hold his shirt together under his wings. He’s going slow, relishing in the way Azriel’s body writhes at the slightest touch. The shadows decide to help him unlace and Azriel has never been more grateful to them.

But Azriel refuses to yield. He starts working on Cass’s pants. Cass huffs and breaks from his mouth, pressing a trail of kisses down his neck. Then Azriel’s shirt is off and the cold air hits his skin. He shivers. Cass shoves him further back on the bed, hands going from his back to run over his thighs. He doesn’t stop until Azriel is resting upon the plush pillows.

Azriel’s overheating, blood rushing to his cheeks and his cock. Cass, hovering above him, is smirking. “So sweet for me,” he whispers before attacking his neck again, sucking on it. Azriel’s back arches up from the bed, a desperate plea on his lips. Cass grinds his growing bulge down against Azriel’s and it sends sparks up Azriel’s spine. He whines low in his throat, lets Cass know what he thinks about the teasing.

Cass doesn’t seem to care.

He starts unlacing Azriel’s pants, kissing his way down Azriel’s stomach; stops to place a hickey just below his navel. Then Azriel’s pants are undone, and Cass starts tugging at them. Azriel can’t be bothered to help, just leans back and runs his fingertips on any available part of Cassian’s skin. Cass presses a kiss to his hip. With some struggle, he manages to get Azriel’s pants fully off. He crawls up to face Azriel.

He still licks a stripe from Azriel’s stomach to his throat, though. He kisses Azriel once; then twice; then he licks his way inside Azriel’s mouth again. One hand goes down to flutter around his cock, but never fully touching. Just a small brush there and a tiny pinch there. Nothing more. Azriel growls but knows that Cass won’t give him what he wants. Not until he sees Azriel begging for his cock. He needs a different tactic.

“You’re still fully clothed,” he whines, “It’s unfair”

Cass changes that quickly.

When he’s leaning over Azriel again, all bare skin and strong, uncovered muscle, Azriel thinks he might come on the spot. What a story that would be. Cass smirks, as if he knows exactly what Azriel is thinking about. “Kiss me,” Azriel says. Cass does.

Cass moves his body smoothly, grinding slowly down on Azriel’s in perfectly filthy waves. Azriel pulls his legs up, throws them over Cass’s thighs, tugging the other male closer. The change in position makes Cass groan open-mouthed against Azriel’s lips. His hands go to Azriel’s hips, angling them up perfectly.

Azriel wants to suck his cock, but at the same time not. Even if the heavy feeling of Cass’s cock in his mouth would’ve been wonderous right now, his body is screaming at him to take Cass inside. The simple thought of it, of Cass being inside him and _fucking_ him, makes him moan. _You’re so needy_ , the shadows breathlessly complain. Azriel had forgotten that his pleasure was their pleasure. He’s not the only one enjoying himself right now.

“What do you want?” Cass asks, a hint of a smirk on his lips. He’s always been this confident in bed; at least with Azriel. That confidence is a perfect answer to Azriel’s countless doubts and worries. His mind doesn’t even have time to conjure up predictions of everything he could do wrong. Everything is just Cass.

“Tell me how you want my cock, love,” Cass mouths at his neck and Azriel arches again. It wasn’t a request or teasing. It was a clear command. It was Cass taking charge of him. It turns Azriel on more than it should. He spends a few seconds helplessly gasping before he manages to make his voice work. Cass spends those seconds biting and nipping at his throat.

“From behind,” Azriel finally manages and then, because he feels bratty right now, he adds in a demanding tone, “Fuck me from behind”

Cass finally looks up at him, arching an eyebrow. He pecks Azriel’s lips before tapping his thigh; the sign to get Azriel to turn over. The air leaves Azriel’s lungs. He had wanted it to go fast, but now that they’re this close, it feels almost looming; threatening. He still turns over, a bit awkwardly with the way they’re tangled together.

There’s something deep in his chest that’s guiding his actions, almost like a second instinct. It’s natural for him, they tell him, this is how he should be for Cass. A tap on his ankle has him blushing deeply, but he still obeys, spreading his legs wide open, almost obscenely. Presenting himself. Ready for Cass to take and claim. A pleased growl sounds from behind him and there’s a soft caress over the swell of his hip. It does something to his head; makes him moan loudly. 

Some small part of him preens at the notion that he’s made Cass pleased, that he’s being good for Cass. The presence of Cass disappears for a few moments and Azriel squirms, suddenly uncomfortable. He whines. Cass is instantly behind him again, a hand running up his spine. “There, there,” he hushes, “I’m not going anywhere, love”

Then there’s a cool touch against his thigh, just under the slight swell of his ass. He gasps, earning a chuckle from Cass. The male leans over him, pressing himself along Azriel’s back. “Eager for me, are you?” he teases, right into Azriel’s ear. Azriel whimpers and nods. He’s never been this easy before. Not even for Cass.

Cass leans back again, lets his fingers trail up to Azriel’s ass, kneading the cheek. Azriel relaxes at the touch, then jerks forward with a surprised moan as Cass’s hand comes down hard.

Cass massages his ass before landing a second blow. Azriel clutches onto the pillow under him, biting into the fabric. He angles his hips, urging Cass on. Cass groans in approval. “ _Yes_ , Az, so good for me,” he says as two slicked up fingers presses against Azriel’s hole. Azriel arches, whining again. He doesn't want to know where that slick came from.

“Please,” he whimpers, “Please, get it inside I can’t wait anymore, I can’t…” Cass puts pressure on his hole and in a second, two fingers are inside him. Luckily, they go inside without much sting. Azriel’s hips jerk; first down towards the bed, his sensitive cock rubbing against the sheets, then up again, craving more of Cass’s touch. Cass laughs roughly, affectionately rather than mocking.

“Been waiting long for this, haven’t you?” he growls, “By the Mother, ever since I made you come on my thigh, I’ve wanted to _ravage_ your tight little ass”

Azriel doesn’t know how to answer, just rolls his hips, trying to get Cass to move. Cass’s unoccupied hand grabs onto his hip, stilling him. Azriel flushes even more, if that’s possible. He's always gotten off on Cass manhandling him. Cass chuckles and presses the fingers deeper. The drag of Cass’s fingers inside almost makes him come all by itself. Azriel cries out as Cass presses his fingers against that one sensitive spot. It sets his body ablaze and black spots dance in his vision.

Soon enough a third finger goes inside, and it has Azriel whining and leaking precum onto the sheets. “ _Cass_ ,” he gasps, “I need you inside me, _now_ ” Cass lets out a guttural groan and Azriel can feel his hand shaking from where it’s clutching his hip. Apparently, he’s not the only one who’s losing control. “ _Cass_ ,” he demands again and hears a choked curse from behind. _You’re driving him crazy_ , the shadows preen, running along his sensitive skin and making everything _more_.

Then Cass’s fingers are gone and he’s grabbing Azriel by the hips, canting them in a lewd position, before laying his palm on the low of his back pushing him further down. As he always likes to take him. Cass’s hands go back to Azriel’s hips and the blunt head of his cock presses against Azriel’s entrance. “Ready, darling?” Cass grunts, thumb rubbing back and forth over his hip. Azriel can’t handle it anymore.

“Yes, yes, _yes,_ Cass, take me, please, I need you,” he rambles, uncaring of the fact that he sounds like a desperate maid on her first night, “ _Fuck me_ , Cassian, make me yours”

That’s the breaking point for Cass. He lets out a husky growl, the growl of a male getting ready to mount his mate, and pushes in all the way in one, quick thrust. Azriel cries out as he is rocked forward, face shoved into the pillow. Cass stays still for a few moments, grip tight on Azriel’s hips, and just breathes. Azriel uses the time to get himself up on his elbows again. He still keeps his back as arched as possible, hips angled the way Cass likes. It makes it better, in a way. And it’s not like he can move out of the position, with the shadows wrapping around him to keep him up.

Azriel doesn’t think he can feel better than this, but then Cass starts moving. Slowly, at first, his hips moving back and forth. Every drag of Cass’s cock inside him sends him writhing again, hitched moans forcing themselves past his lips. “ _Gods_ , you’re so tight, Az,” Cass moans, “So tight for my cock”

It’s then he picks up the pace, fucking in and out in fast, confident strokes. He pulls long enough back for his cock to catch on the rim of Azriel’s hole and then thrusts in again, drawing high-pitched moans from him. There’s a constant filthy, squelching sound each time Cass plunges back in, and it only heightens Azriel’s sensitivity more. Cass angles his hips _just right_ , and hits his spot and Azriel _shrieks,_ throwing his head back. “ _Yes_ , right there!”

A groan of approval sounds from behind them and Cass’s thrusts speed up. His hand comes up to grab Azriel’s hair, tugging at him until he has his palms pressed to the sheets instead of his elbows, and his back is arched almost uncomfortably. Azriel isn’t sure he’s going to last much longer, even if there’s no hand tugging on his cock. Cass’s shaft is so constant and big and _deep_ inside him, and Cass is fucking him _just right_. He’s undoubtedly going to spill untouched.

“Cass,” he gasps, “I—I’m going to…”

Cass grunts before stilling his hips, leaving him buried to the hilt, and grinding deep into him in strong thrusts. Azriel chokes on a moan. Cass’s hand in his hair, the other hand with the grip on his hip, the presence of his massive cock inside, and the snap of his hips against his backside all overwhelm him and before he knows it, he’s spilling over the sheets with a high, drawn-out whine.

Cass moans as Azriel’s ass tightens around him, trying to milk his cock. He keeps thrusting into Azriel’s oversensitive body, set on release. Azriel doesn’t mind. He is on the brink of collapse, the tremors and bliss of release running through his body. “Come inside me, Cass, _please_ ,” he moans, body quivering, “Fill me with your come, use me, fuck me full”

Cass releases a feral groan as he spills inside, but Azriel feels it more than he hears it. Feels Cass’s seed spurt into him, filling him, warm and plenty. He’s going to have a hard time cleaning that out. Cass finally releases the grip he has on Azriel’s hair, letting the male fall forward. Azriel catches himself on his elbows, groaning.

Cass rests his forehead on Azriel’s spine, taking deep gulps of breath. “Mine,” he says, “You’re mine, Az”

Azriel can only whimper at the sparks those words send through his body.

Then Cass is pulling out and guiding him down onto the sheets. Azriel lets him, too exhausted to protest. Azriel is shifted onto his side and Cass’s warmth disappears before he comes back with a damp towel. He starts to wipe and clean Azriel’s body, softly smiling through the entire thing. He only does a surface job of Azriel’s behind, though, that primal instinct probably telling him to keep his seed inside his mate. Azriel shivers at that.

Then Cass pulls the sheets off the bed and carries over a soft blanket. Azriel watches him through drowsy eyes the entire time, humming with contentment. The shadows are roaming his body and the bed freely now, spent and sated. _He’s always been good to us, hasn’t he_?, they say and Azriel can only nod. Cass finally settles himself in the bed, on his back. He tugs Azriel up, making the male lay sprawled over him, head buried in his neck. Azriel spreads his wings over them, cocooning them in, while Cass spreads the blanket over their legs.

“I love you,” Azriel murmurs when they’ve settled, the filter on his mouth completely gone. Cass stills for a few long, terrifying seconds before he presses a kiss to Azriel’s brow. “I love you, too,” he answers, fingers coming up to thread through his hair. And that is that.

Azriel falls asleep smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yea, Azriel is a bloody pillow princess and none of you can convince me otherwise.  
> The fingering part is so short bc I literally cannot write that without it becoming a drawn-out mess of repetition, sorry.  
> If you’re wondering about the position Az’s wings, I kinda imagine it as the bottom of his wings resting on the bed and them falling down on his sides that way. Idk I don't know how Illyrian autonomy works. Tbh it would've been hilarious if Cass had gone inside and Azriel's wings had just flared up and smacked him in the face. I swear I will write more wing-centred smut later on, bc we all love how sensitive Azriel's wings are.
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked this chapter!


	14. A Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...Yeah, this took longer than the last chapters and that's all on me for expecting too much of myself. We have these two in-depth studies at school this week, and we also had this "short answer" thing on Tuesday that kinda messed up my schedule. I also had a surprise attack from my anxiety, which kind of made me freak out and put off work, and to top it all off my ADD is acting up...so yeah. I'm going on winter break next week though so let's pray I'm in a better mood then.

Azriel blinks awake to an empty bed. The sun is shining through the windows, but a morning sun now, not evening. Azriel is surprised he’d been able to sleep through the entire night. Normally, he wakes around midnight or extremely early in the morning, startling up with a nightmare fresh in his mind.

Azriel flops onto his stomach, groaning at the ache in his backside and thighs. He’s going to feel this today. He crosses his arms under his head and rests it like that for a while. The sheets are bunching up around his waist, leaving his thighs bare. The air is warm enough for it, anyways, and he knows that Cass won’t mind; Not one bit.

He hums and flares his wings, stretching them to their full length. He hears some joints crack, so he flaps them slowly a few times, smoothing out the tense muscles. The shadows sweep over his skin, sighing. _Last night was wonderful_ , they say, _you must do that more_. Azriel’s cheek heat at their teasing tone. _I’m sure Cass agrees with you_ , he quips, but doesn’t indulge them further.

“I’ve always loved your wings, you know,” a voice echoes through the room, “Every part of you is so elegant and wonderful”

Azriel turns, letting Cass see the flush on his cheeks that tells him exactly what he thinks of words like that. And seeing Cass, leaning against the doorway with loose pants slung low on his hips, a smirk upon his lips; It wakes a lust in him. wants from last night. He had never understood mates constantly fucking, after the bond had been accepted, until now. “Come here,” he says, “I wanna suck your cock”

Cass obeys with a shiver, coming to kneel in front of him. Azriel drags the pants down to Cass’s thighs and takes his cock in his mouth. He lets Cass finish inside, coating his tongue in a heavy, thick taste. He swallows and Cass moans at that. “Perfect,” he mutters and places a kiss on Azriel’s brow. Azriel grins.

“So,” Cass starts as Azriel falls down on the sheets again, “I guess those outbursts really make sense after all” Azriel only hums in reply, running his fingers over Cass’s wrist. “It must’ve been building up,” he theorizes, “Kind of a warning for when it would settle”

“When do you reckon it started?”

Azriel cocks his head, now playing with Cass’s fingers instead. “After Hybern, I think,” he says, “What happened there, how close we were to losing one another…I think it might have triggered something”

Cass grabs his wrist, brings it to his mouth. Azriel’s instincts scream at him to pull away, to hide those disgusting marks from Cass, but deep down he knows that he doesn’t have to. Cass has never cared about them; Why should he start now? “I think I knew,” Cass mutters, lips brushing against the scarred skin, “From the moment I awoke and saw you there, I just didn’t want to admit it. You’ve always been so beautiful, you know, and always so kind.

“Those times in Windhaven…they weren’t purely physical, at least not for me. When I started getting protective, I—I tried to ignore it, what you did to me. Didn’t want to think where I’d started…loving you. You’ve been my everything for so long, Az, that I don’t think I realized when I fell for you, it was just gradual. It’s always felt so natural—so normal—to love you.”

Azriel feels tears slide down his face, his breath hitching. “I never knew,” he says, sitting up with a wince, “Cass, I…I’ve loved you for a long time and I knew from our first time together that I do—” He leans his forehead against Cass’s, smiling “—I just never thought to tell you because I never thought you would want…”

Cass breaks him off with a deep kiss that raises goose flesh on his skin. When he breaks off, he holds Azriel close. “I will always want you,” he growls, “Never doubt that; I won’t forgive myself if I let you think I don’t care for you”

Azriel takes a deep breath. He’ll just have to get used to this now; Cass forcing him to think good thoughts about himself. He’s about to lean in with a kiss, thanking Cass in one of the only ways he knows how to, but…

The shadows start screaming, throwing up a makeshift shield.

He shoots up, barely has time to throw himself in front of Cass as a blast of power shoots through the air. The shadows take the brunt of it, groaning. An echo of that tremendous wave hits the, weaker but still powerful. As Azriel can feel, it doesn’t tear at his skin, just fills him with extreme dread. Cass has his hands on Azriel immediately, twisting him around so he is half-shielded by Cass, as well, as the wave makes its way through the room. The room starts shaking around them, small pieces of debris raining down.

They hold onto each other until it stops. “What the hell?” Cass wheezes when the shaking stops. Azriel fleets his eyes and shadows over Cass’s body and, when he finds no injuries, stumbles out of the bed. His feet go quickly over the floor, while he twists the bedsheets around his hips and slings the remaining fabric over his shoulder, mimicking Helion’s garments. Cass follows him. “Little One?” he calls out as he steps into the fore-chamber.

Daeva is shivering where he’s lying, soft meows echoing through the room. Azriel sends the shadows to pick up his small form, making them bring him to his hands. The moment they touch him and pick up on his emotions, Azriel’s heart speeds up. The blast had affected him in a different, more painful way. He brings Daeva to his chest and the kitten curls in, taking comfort in the warmth of Azriel’s skin. Slowly, but surely, he stops shivering.

Azriel opens the door and storms into the hallway, looking out the windows and southwards. He sends the shadows running, searching. Cass comes at his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on?” he asks, quietly, because they both felt that tremendous explosion of power; both felt that hopelessness of _something_ powerful breaking.

The shadows come running back, twisting and coiling. _It’s broken_ , they breathe, _the wall broke_.

Azriel can barely breathe. _Shit_. Cass moves his hand to his cheek in a silent question. “The wall’s gone,” Azriel says, “Hybern used the Cauldron” Cassian curses, running his hand through his hair. Without even realizing, Azriel has a hand around his waist. Their eyes meet, and he knows that, no matter what happens, they’ll face it together.

That’s the moment Tamlin decides to come hurtling down the hallway. He skids to a halt when he sees the two of them. His eyes take them in; Azriel’s lack of clothing, his hand around Cass’s waist and his neck littered with hickeys. His face twists with disgust.

“Of course,” Tamlin sneers, “ _You people_ would partake in such degeneracy. I don’t know why I expected anything else”

Azriel stiffens, his heart freezing over. He’d forgotten how conservative the south was; the Court most influenced by Hybern’s practices. Only focused on the reproductive advantages of a match, anything else seen as degenerative and a shame. The Nightmare Court had taken much influence from that court, even if they’d always denied it.

Cass growls and takes a step towards the High Lord, his raw power flaring up. Azriel has his shadows ready, lining the marble and columns. Tension rises in the air, sparking with the uncontrolled anger and power of all three of them. Daeva squirms against Azriel’s chest, tensing along with him. Cass has his wings flared and Tamlin’s claws are out, ready to strike. This won’t end well.

Then the walls thrum with energy as another High Lord throws his powers towards them. It washes over them and stifles them, forcing their powers within shells of his control. If they don’t want their powers to turn on them, they’ll have to stand down. Azriel had forgotten how unforgiving Thesan can be.

 “I do not want any kind of prejudices voiced in my house, Tamlin,” Thesan says as he turns the corner, cool and calculated, “Now, you tuck your cocks away, and _calm the fuck down_ ”

Azriel turns to meet Thesan’s eyes, letting his powers fall flat. Cass keeps his up, still staring at Tamlin. He’ll keep them up until Tamlin backs off. Thesan takes a step forward, his soft features laced with steel and fury. His lover, Eosai, follows with a hand on the hilt of his sword.

Tamlin growls towards the other High Lord before finally dropping his powers. Consequently, Cass’s powers whisk away as well. Azriel lets out a breath. This could’ve ended so much worse. And now Tamlin’s attention is on Thesan instead of them, avoiding another conflict where Azriel may have gone out of control.

“Why do you care?” he sneers, claws still not retracted. _Here we go_ , the shadows sigh and Azriel puts his other hand up over Daeva, ready to protect him if things get rough. Eosai growls and takes a step forward, feathered wings spreading wide. Tamlin smirks at the male and then, by the _goddamn_ Mother, spits at the captain’s feet. Cass’s mouth falls open, his eyebrows raised; completely dumbstruck. Azriel manages to keep his face neutral.

It seemed the night had taken the last few brain cells Tamlin had left. Thesan loosens a loud roar and Tamlin is suddenly up against a wall, Thesan’s power choking him. “Get the fuck out of my house, you piece of trash,” Thesan says, deadly calm, one hand rested on his lover’s richly dark shoulder.

Tamlin huffs—and disappears in a rush of spring air.

Azriel finally drops his protective hand from Daeva and slips it into Cass’s. Thesan sighs, shoulders slumping, and starts threading his hand through Eosai’s long, dark braids. “I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he mutters as Eosai leans into his touch. Azriel just shrugs. “Thanks for stepping in,” Cass says. Thesan just smiles, then sends a wink to Azriel.

“You can never stop them from jumping to your every defence, can you?” he says, pinching Eosai’s cheek. Eosai huffs but accepts it without question. “I would’ve said it gets better with time, but…that would just be a lie. You’ll get used to it after a few centuries”

Azriel chuckles, while both Cass and Eosai look incredibly offended. “Excuse me?” Eosai asks, turning to Thesan with a glare. Thesan laughs softly, and then jerks his head at Cass and Azriel. “Your High Lord and Lady wants you in their chambers,” he says before tugging Eosai down the hallway.

Cass draws in a deep breath and lets it out again. “Let’s go find Rhysie,” he says. Azriel nods.

 

-:-

 

Somewhere along the lines, Azriel had forgotten he’d only wrapped a sheet around himself. His brain only seemed to register it when he stepped through the door into Rhys and Feyre’s rooms. So now he stands there, staring into the eyes of Lady Autumn and Helion, with a sheet around his waist, a kitten in his hand and Cass’s hand on his nape. He wants to die.

Helion seems delighted, though, while Lady Autumn is doing a poor job of subtly averting her eyes. Her cheeks are reddened, her posture stiff. Probably not the way she’d expected to meet him again. It makes him want to die even more.

He wishes he can forget the face Mor makes when she steps through the door and sees them. Her hand falls from the doorknob, her steps faltering. Her mouth parts, eyes going wide. She stands there staring at Cass’s hand on him for a moment before her face falls neutral and she walks closer to them. She pulls her eyes from them and doesn’t look at them any more than that. Azriel struggles to not excuse himself.

Finally— _fucking finally_ —Rhys decides to appear. He has Lucien and Feyre on either side, but surprisingly enough there’s no scent of sex clinging to them. Lady Autumn rushes forward to grasp her son who welcomes her embrace warmly. Helion is watching them with a soft smile upon his lips, a hesitant hand slightly raised. He doesn’t approach them, though.

Daeva starts squirming and Azriel is relieved that he’s finally active again. He gently places the kitten down and rubs his head a few times before rising again. Daeva blinks at him, shakes his head and then pads off to find food.

“Had a fun night?” Rhys quips, grinning from ear to ear. Azriel sighs, hoping he sounds exasperated enough. Cass growls. Of course; Azriel is embarrassed he anticipated anything else. Feyre is smirking.

“Don’t have me on the front lines today, Rhys,” Azriel answers, willing to play along, “I might just have to kill you for it”

Helion laughs, helping them avoid an awkward silence. “At least some of us have found our happiness,” he says. Azriel flushes but doesn’t step out of Cass’s touch, having fallen into being comfortable with such open affection.

“I can’t believe you’re _mates_ ,” Feyre breathes, “Goodness, I’m so happy for you” Azriel nods in thanks. Mor finally turns to them. “You deserve each other,” she says, smiling. Somehow, Azriel can’t stop imagining it as an insult.

Rhys is watching them with interest. “So you’ll acknowledge it?” he asks, mostly to Cass. He hits on something Azriel hadn’t even considered: That Cass would like to keep it private. Hide him away. It makes sense, after all. That’s the way it always has been for the two of them. Frantic kisses and fucks in the dark and normal friendship in the light. To acknowledge Azriel as his lover would mean attention on their relationship and possible threats. He’s always been Cass’s dirty, little secret; for five hundred years he’s let Cass have him like that. What are five hundred more?

“Of course I’ll acknowledge it,” Cass answers without a second thought, making Azriel’s breath stop in his throat, “He’s my mate; my biggest pride. Why would I want to hide that?” Azriel nearly chokes, tears blurring his vision. Cass’s hand on his nape tightens and drags him close. Before Azriel can even whine in protest, because he’s still squeamish about being touched like this in front of others, Cass has a finger under his chin, tilting his head up.

“Don’t cry, love,” he says, wiping away Azriel’s tears, “I’ll never hide you away again”

Azriel only cries harder. Cass keeps wiping his tears.

He’ll never be hidden again. Never again shut in that dark room; never again a quick fling on the floor of an apartment; never again unimportant. He leans his forehead against Cass’s.

“This is so sweet, I might throw up,” Lucien whines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, okay this chapter is a bit of a filler, but I'm satisfied with how it turned out.  
> 1\. I hate myself for hurting Daeva  
> 2\. Cazriel will have more talks about their relationship and the difficult history surrounding it.  
> 3\. Tamlin is a jerk  
> 4\. Thesan's lover deserves a name
> 
> Next chapter will definitely have much more drama, but I'm honestly so goddamn exhausted that I don't know if I can manage to make this chapter better or add anything.   
> ALSO MY FUCKING WIFI GOT FUCKED, so this is going up like five hours late I cri


	15. Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! The clock is now 22.46 and I am getting up at 06.30 tomorrow... So, yeah. I have some doubts about this chapter, but it turned out good enough.

Azriel lets his eyes fleet over the Illyrian camps, always so brutal and unforgiving. They’d chosen a bad day to go here, with stormy clouds overhead and strong winds keeping most of the Illyrians grounded. He doesn’t even bother looking at Devlon, lets his shadows do the job. He’s scared shitless of Nesta, and her powers, but won’t acknowledge it. Good. If he doesn’t acknowledge it, then neither will Nesta.

The cold, ruthless wind that always seems to dwindle here whips at Azriel’s skin, pinkening it. He’d always been teased for his skin’s sensitivity here, most of the soldiers constantly pinching and beating him to see who could bring the most colour to it. From the first week it had been discovered to this day Cass has been the undefeated champion, due to his lack of shame when it came to suggestive jokes and actions.

Azriel hates it here. Always has. Since the first day he’d arrived, he’d known their true opinions on him without even needing to speak to them. Maybe he didn’t know their faces, but he was good friends with the cruelty painted upon them. He knew what they would do if they got him alone.

He’s still on the receiving end of those looks now, even with a High Lord at his side. Especially with Cass’s spent scent clinging to him. Lovers had always been taken in secret in the camps if it were not a marriage; lovers were something that could be used against you, could be hurt and possibly killed. No one would dare attack Cass, but those looks still bristle Azriel. He wants to growl at them but keeps his mask cool and impassive. Better to not let them have their fun.

Devlon’s eyes fleet over Azriel for a second, his posture stiffening at the sight of the shadows perched on his shoulders. Their eyes meet, and a loud growl comes from Cass. Devlon huffs a laugh, but quickly averts his gaze. Even when disrespecting him, they’re terrified.

Feyre quickly makes the decision to get Nesta away from the War Lord, heaving a big worry off Azriel’s shoulders. With Nesta out of the picture, he can focus on keeping everyone else in line. Namely, Cass, who is glaring, with death in his eyes, at Devlon. The War Lord pretends not to notice, but his hand is inching towards his sword. It makes Azriel’s instincts roar with rage. He sends a few slivers of shadow to Devlon’s spine, causing the man to shiver.

“Can we trust those two to command the legions?” Devlon sneers with his wings flared, “As some _changes_ obviously have happened” “It won’t affect their performance in battle,” Rhys answers without even blinking, tucking his hands in his pockets. He squares his shoulders and arches an eyebrow at Devlon, daring him to protest. The Lord grumbles but doesn’t comment further.

“Cassian will organize the legions and where they are to place themselves,” Rhys continues as he walks towards the training grounds, forcing all of them to follow if they want to hear more, “You will also allow Azriel to pick his own group of Illyrians for his own legion—at least five of them”

Devlon’s expressions sours more and more as Rhys gives him orders. He’s not at all pleased with the idea of Azriel and Cassian taking away his men and his command. Azriel couldn’t care less. They have more important issues than bruised pride right now. He’s keeping watch of the various soldiers they pass, their physique and strength. He needs smooth ones, who can move stealthily and still fight with usual Illyrian ferocity.

It won’t be easy, as Illyrians didn’t favour leanness and stealth, but there are still those few males, and more often females, who don’t fit the mould and find their own way to fight. As he had.

His mind brings the memories of his fights—to come here with untrained wings at the age of eleven. Cass and Rhys had finally taken pity on him and taught him how. They’d laughed and mocked him, but always stopped when it got too much. They’d wrapped him in blankets and held him in their arms until the shadows withdrew. Then they’d taken him to a clearing and made him fail over and over again—until he didn’t fail anymore.

Devlon starts complaining, whining about the freedom Rhys lets his “dogs” have. Rhys listens to him silently for a short moment before he jerks his head at Azriel and Cass, motioning at them to get to work. Devlon’s voice falters at that and his face reddens, but he keeps talking—though a bit more unsure than before.

Cass angles towards the Commanding Tents but stops in his tracks when Azriel makes towards the training grounds. He then holds his hand out, beckoning Azriel over. Azriel swallows but obeys with a glance thrown at Devlon, who seems to pay a lot more attention to the two of them now.

When Azriel is close enough, Cass grabs his hand and drags him the last inches, making him stumble. Azriel, to his utter mortification, squeals while his wings flare slightly. Then he’s slotted against Cass’s strong form—the warrior’s hand around his waist, the other one on the back of his head. Cass cocks his head to the side and smiles, eyes fleeting over Azriel’s face; his reddened cheeks. “Adorable,” he murmurs and kisses him.

Azriel knows what Cass is doing—that he’s telling every single male in this camp who Azriel belongs to. It’s surprising that he even lets Azriel go off without him, with how aggressive he’s been. He should’ve expected it, with the mating bond, but it still makes his stomach flutter. If he’d been any other female, he’d been offended by the possessiveness…but Azriel has never felt like he belonged to someone in this way before. So Cass’s claim over him calms him in a way.

Azriel leans in, his hands coming to rest on Cass’s chest, and opens his mouth, lets Cass slip his tongue inside. Cass’s hold on him tightens and makes Azriel feel every single inch of hard muscle. He feels his blood rush downwards, his cock hardening. The bulge presses against Cass’s thigh; shoots sparks up his spine. Cass growls when he feels it, his hand twisting the hair at Azriel’s nape.

Azriel lets out a breathless whimper when Cass pulls away. He’s clutching at Cass’s leathers, the scorching of his touch the only thing keeping his focus. Due to the shadows, he can see himself through Cass’s eyes. His lips are swollen, cheeks blazing with colour and his eyes glossy. “Adorable,” Cass says again and presses a small peck to his lips before untangling himself from Azriel.

Only then does the winds of the Illyrian camp enter his mind again. His flush deepens when he notices how soldiers have stopped in their tracks to gaze at them. Some of them are smirking and staring with interest; some of them blushing and averting their eyes; some of them are glaring at Cass, clearly thinking that they’d had a chance with Azriel before him. Cass has claimed him thoroughly in their eyes, so they won’t even try to approach him.

Azriel tries not to mind Rhys’s amused expression and Devlon’s stunned one. His mouth is even hanging open. Azriel tries to regain some of his dignity by straightening his back and walking away from Cass with nothing more than a wink. Cass’s low growl tells him enough what Cass thinks about that, but Azriel will take the punishment for that when they have some privacy.

He makes his way through the training grounds, eyeing males and females alike. Most of the males avoid his gaze, having witnessed Cass’s claiming. Some of them are more confident, though, and the shadows report on their whispered fantasies of taking Cassian’s _little bitch_. It almost makes Azriel laugh out loud.

Among the females, he finds three who might be fitting candidates. He pulls them aside, questions them on their training and, when getting satisfactory answers, tells them of their possible new position. They don’t even take time to consider. When Azriel continues on his walk they follow, sticking close to him and whispering excitedly among themselves. For the males, though…

It is difficult to find anyone without that usual poisoned mind, sneering and spitting at the young females following him. Usually, he wouldn’t care as long as they’d follow orders but with the girls at his back, he can’t let anyone like that in.

When reaching the sparring ring, he spots a thin, lean male—clearly younger than seventeen— at the edge, watching with keen interest and focus. Judging by the looks and movements of the others, he’s the runt. Easy to bully. Azriel saunters over and sits down next to him. Five sentences and Azriel’s won him over.

When he leads the male away, he keeps his eyes off the ring, where they’re sparring. Even if their movements are quick and extreme, Azriel can feel their attention on him. He fights the panic that’s rising in his throat, keeps his face neutral. He won’t let them win. Didn’t let them years ago and won’t let them now.

The male bows his head when they return to the girls, a blush rising on his cheeks. He greets them softly, even going as far as kissing their knuckles. Two of them show no reaction, used to such affections being masks of veiled cruelty, but the younger one giggles and smiles. Azriel made a good choice.

He’s about to leave with just them when he notices two people sparring at the edge of the grounds. Their movements aren’t the typical aggressive Illyrian styles, they’re quick and smooth—blurs of motion. Just what he’s looking for. He slowly makes his way towards them, lets them know that he’s scouting them out.

By the looks of them, they’re related. The same build; same long, braided hair; same midnight-dark skin. One of them glances over at Azriel and then says something to his brother, who stiffens. Still, they keep sparring. Azriel stops close to the circle they’ve made out while fighting, weighing all his options. They stop and turn to him, one of them wiping blood from his mouth. All it takes for them to agree is an arched eyebrow.

Devlon grimaces when Azriel returns, clearly disliking his choices. Rhys grants them a glance. “Who are they?” he demands, ignoring Devlon’s attempted sentence of protest. “These are Myrah and Fenn,” Azriel says and gestures to the two oldest girls, “Lorelai—” he moves his hand to the youngest girl, and then to the runt, “—This is Nik—” and finally the twins “—Wrigh and Bjorn”

Devlon is growling at this point. Azriel relishes in the fact. Three females, one runt, and a set of bastards. It’s sure to anger all the other War Lords, no matter what. Devlon glares at Lorelai, the softest of them all. Lorelai is staring at her feet, shaking slightly. Azriel sighs and places himself between them, flaring his wings. “Leave it,” he says. Reluctantly, Devlon does. Rhys starts questioning them, double-checking Azriel’s decision-making.

Cass grins when he comes and finds them, throwing appreciative glances to Azriel’s new recruits. He reaches out and tugs at Azriel’s waist, pressing his front against Azriel’s back and holding him there with his hands around his waist. “I missed you,” Cass mutters against Azriel’s nape. Devlon huffs.

Azriel growls at him and lets his shadows run free. Devlon stumbles back, hissing at the black tendrils. Wrigh snorts, while Fenn smirks. Rhys holds up a hand, though, and Azriel withdraws the shadows. Devlon keeps glaring at him, a hand on his sword. Azriel looks over at his recruits. “The High Lord will help you settle when we’ve moved, I’ll find you when I’m finished”

Myrah immediately takes charge, giving him a curt nod. Then Cass drags Azriel away and towards a tent. Rhys, the bastard, throws a wolf-whistle after them. It turns heads and gains snickers, but Cass doesn’t seem to care. He’s dragging Azriel after him, the two of them going along like a pair of young, moon-eyed lovers.

Azriel stumbles into the tent after Cass and is immediately lifted onto the low table that stands there. Cass is between his thighs in a moment, diving into Azriel’s neck. “Shit, Az, I missed you so much,” Cass says against his skin, “It drove me crazy; Need to touch you _now_ ”

“Cass,” Azriel mutters, face growing warm. A tightening starts in his stomach at those words, the mating bond acting up. He needs Cass against him. Needs to feel his cock. He tugs Cass’s face up and attacks his lips, his hips rolling forward against Cass’s. Cass growls low in his throat and shifts a hand to the low of Azriel’s back, angling his hips perfectly. Azriel’s back arches as their bulges rub against one another’s, the leathers adding to the friction.

“I can’t handle seeing these Illyrian _fuckers_ around you,” Cass says while he breaks away to nip at his neck, “All of them screwing you with their eyes. By the Mother, the way they stare at your ass like they have a chance of spilling inside it. Like they’re worthy of bending you over. You’re _mine_ , we should let them know why”

Cass bites into Azriel’s neck and digs his thigh down into Azriel’s bulge, making the male writhe and keen loudly. Snickers and gasps can be heard from outside, no doubt teenaged, horny Illyrians who’re trying to find release from the strict training regime. Azriel whines and buries his head in Cass’s shoulder. “They’re listening,” he whispers, suddenly shy and embarrassed. “Good,” Cass groans and urges Azriel’s hips on, grinding them against his thigh.

Azriel bites onto Cass’s shoulder, the churning in his stomach heightening at the feel of Cass’s clothed cock against his own thigh. Cass growls and tugs roughly at Azriel’s hair, forcing him to slack his bite. “I want them to hear you,” he says, voice rough. Cass slides his hand down and squeezes the fat meat of Azriel’s ass, smirking at Azriel’s high-pitched whine.

Azriel wraps his legs around Cass to hold him tighter, digging his heels into the back of Cass’s thighs. “Yeah,” he gasps when Cass drags his cock torturously slow over his thigh, his hand shooting out to clutch at Cass’s wing, “Just like that, _make me cum like this_ ”

A choked curse sounds from outside the tent, followed by a laugh. There’s also a slick sound of skin rubbing wet skin, and Azriel flushes when he realizes that they’re _jerking off_ to Cass making him cum. Somehow, the knowledge turns him on even more and he starts thrusting desperately at Cass’s thigh, not caring how many will hear him beg.

And so he loses himself in his mate.

Cass makes him come three times before he lets him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That smut part at the end came out of nowhere, no joke, I hadn't planned for it to end like that why do I do this?? And like the Illyrians getting themselves off outside the tent??? What even??  
> Most of the scouting team thing is mainly just for Az to take underdogs under his wing and taking care of them. In ACOWAR Az also uses a lot of time on scouting so I figured he needed some people to play off of during those parts.  
> Next chapter will probably be less sex-focused and will bring up some emotional conflict between the two, also a little bit of foreshadowing here too.
> 
> If you enjoyed the chapter, please leave a comment!


	16. War Is Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the operation went really well and it actually doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would. The thing is that now I have to spend at least a week on the sofa, which means that I'm able to write more, so YAY!

Azriel hates the mortal lands, especially Graysen’s estate. They’re so vast of life and cold, and it’s like they’re actually sucking the magic out of his siphons. The shadows are covering, too, resting inside his sleeves and collar, refusing to do much more. _Dead place_ , they whisper, _dead._

Feyre has put on a simple dress, usual in this part of the mortal lands. Her hair is also in a simple twist-braid, a style that makes her seem smaller and more humane. They need all the sympathy they can get when trying to discuss with these humans. The iron-spiked walls tell him that much.

They’d left Cass behind in the Illyrian camp, rallying the troops and eventually moving them, and it’s eating away at Azriel. Many people in the legions want him dead, as a bastard and a strict commander and will take any chance they can get. He’s too far away for Azriel to keep any proper shadows on him, so he has to rely on Cass’s own ability to survive. He knows it’s stupid to worry so much, but he needs to be there and protect his mate. No matter what.

As Feyre tries to persuade them to open their gates to the commoners, Azriel is stealthily sending his shadows around to get a read on them. Most of them are aristocrats, or at least above the usual income of an average mortal, and don’t see the worth of the commoners. _They’d just be in the way,_ they think, _Useless waste of space_. Azriel wants to strangle them all.

Feyre keeps arguing, refusing to let them get away with it. Graysen keeps arguing back, refusing to give up the halls of his estate. It’s fascinating, seeing Feyre blazing with anger and passion in such a way. Rhys stands behind her, his mere presence enough to intimidate the men. They’ve never seen a fae before; much less a High Lord.

A twinge of annoyance spreads from his chest, which means that some Illyrian High Lord is probably creating trouble with Cass. Azriel bites down a growl and tries to send some reassurance back. He knows from experience that the Lords won’t go away; neither will their habit of getting in Cass’s way.

Feyre takes a break in the arguing to rub at her temple and sigh, clearly annoyed at Graysen’s refusals. “Please, I need you to understand,” she starts again, and Azriel has to applaud her eternal patience. He can see that Nesta already is losing herself to anger, hands balled into fists. The meeting seems to be completely still-standing, without points moving even an inch, when he enters.

Azriel rolls his eyes, so hard that his head starts aching, when Jurian comes through the door. He’s so goddamn tired of _master schemes_ and _grand reveals_ that it makes him want to die. As Mor and Rhys start up a discussion with him, Azriel can only stand there and stare, mind overrode by the pure and utter exhaustion. He’s so _done_ at this point that he won’t even attempt to speak; knows that he’ll make it apparent that he doesn’t care anymore.

There’s a twinge of amusement down the mating bond, and Azriel only sends more of it—if he’s going to suffer like this, Cass needs to suffer with him. He steels his mind and focuses on the conversation again, letting all the mess go to the shadows. _We feel for you_ , they say as they start processing it all. Azriel silently laughs.

But, of course, Jurian has some second _grand reveal_ and Azriel would’ve choked him if it wasn’t about Hybern’s battle plans. He listens intently to what Jurian has to say, horror growing more and more. If the Summer Court doesn’t get defences up soon…Without a second thought, he winnows. They need to move quickly now.

He doesn’t mind the War Lords’ insulted shouts when he winnows straight into the tent. He starts talking to Cass immediately, without even looking at them. He knows it’ll add to the insult. “At the southern border of Summer, tomorrow; from six to eight thousand,” he says, tries to relay the seriousness through his voice. Cass curses and rubs at his temple. “Devlon, start moving them, we’ll winnow in about two hundred metres from the border,” he says, gesturing with his other hand, “The rest of you, ready your legions and pack up the preparations”

The Lords glower but leave the tent, some of them already shouting orders. “Leave the fucking to the bedchambers,” Devlon says as he exits and earns himself a sneer from Cass. Azriel breathes out and slumps, leaning himself on the table. Cass seems to share the sentiment and comes up to massage his nape. “After the freeing of humans, I thought we were finally finished with war,” he says, smiling when Azriel lets out a pleased moan, “It seems this one will be just as bloody”

“There’s something else,” he continues, “The front ranks…They’re stationed there—Yean and Amedio—what do you want me to do with them?”

Azriel stiffens, swallowing. It’s been so long, but now—with Cass as his mate and the mating bond at its peak—Azriel doesn’t dare trust himself around them. “I don’t care,” he manages, “Just keep them away from me”

Cass nods and doesn’t push him on it. He keeps moving his hand on Azriel’s neck until all the knots are gone. Azriel hums appreciatively and rolls his shoulders; leans in for a kiss. Cass gladly gives him one. “Jurian wanted me to tell you to hammer the left flank hard,” Azriel mentions afterwards, leaning on him. Cass jerks away, eyebrows drawn together.

“What the hell? _Jurian_?” he asks, voice low, “Are you finally out of your mind?”

Azriel sighs, having expected this reaction. “Apparently, he’s not as insane and traitorous as we expected,” he says, treading carefully. When it comes to battle Cass very rarely trusts, especially when it comes to plans and orders. Getting orders from Jurian, of all people, won’t sit well with him. “So you decide to trust him?” Cass growls, “Just like that? With _my_ armies?”

“Look, this isn’t _just_ about you,” Azriel argues, bristling at Cass’s accusatory tone, “Rhys and Mor find him believable, isn’t that enough for you?”

Cass shakes his head, still annoyed. Azriel sighs again, crossing his arms over his chest. They really don’t need this right now. “Listen, just because your _bruised_ pride can’t handle Jurian’s directions…” “Pride?” Cass interrupts, incredulous. “You think this is just about my fucking _pride_? You think me that shallow?”

“Well, it’s no surprise I do,” Azriel almost yells, annoyed, “With how you’re behaving”

Cass stares at him for a few moments, chest heaving, before he jerks his head at the exit. “Get out,” he growls. Azriel blinks. “You can’t be serious,” he breathes, but Cass doesn’t crack a smile. “Get out,” he repeats coldly. Azriel doesn’t have any choice but to obey. He swallows the lump in his throat, blinks away his tears and steps out of the tent.

Devlon is outside, smirking. “Trouble in paradise?” he asks innocently when Azriel passes him. Azriel only answers with a sneer. He walks towards his team’s tent, trying to keep his breathing steady. He’d overreacted, he knows that now. But the thought of going back in there isn’t appealing, so he just leaves it be. No matter how much the mating bond screams at him to stop and turn around. So he walks away from Cass, and can’t shake the feeling that he’s making a huge mistake.

 

-:-

 

It takes several hours to set up the camps on the Summer Court border, soldiers groaning and complaining the entire time. Azriel walks around and helps where he’s able, giving commands where he has to. He tries to avoid Cass through any means necessary, not ready to face him yet. His siphons are lying dormant against his leathers, recharging after the winnow here. Even with all the complaints, the camp is proper—Tents lined and located perfectly. Another sign of Illyrian perfectionism.

Azriel’s own legion follow closely behind him through the entire walk. Myrah has become more confident in a short time, already walking straighter and closer to Azriel. Lorelai is still soft, but her confidence is growing extremely quickly, already having talked back to a few Lords.  It’s a good sign—that she knows that she is no longer bound by the Illyrians’ strict regime. He’s sent the twins and Fenn to the various Courts, warning of Hybern’s moving armies.

He gives Myrah and Lorelai a short order to remain at the camp and oversee the Illyrians, grabs Nik, and takes him further out on the border. Nik’s eyes nervously flicker over the landscape and then to Azriel—then he swallows nervously. Azriel inclines his head, giving the youngling a chance. Nik blinks and then clears his throat. “Downward hills, which means we can overwhelm them when they come for us; Illyrians can also dive easily.” He says so quickly that if Azriel had been any other Illyrians, it would be unintelligible, “The grounds are mostly dirt and grass. If it rains they can become slippery, but it probably won’t come to that.”

Azriel clasps his shoulder, grinning. “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he praises and Nik’s cheeks flush red. If Cass had been here he would’ve raged at the notion, but he’s not, and so Azriel doesn’t need to pull away.

They spend two more hours out on the fields, finding every single detail that can bring them advantages. Nik keeps impressing Azriel during their scouting, pointing out details a normal soldier never would notice. He’s still green, though, and will need years of training before he’s ready to become a proper spy. Night has fallen by the time they return to the camps and even in the Summer Court the nights are cold. Nik is shivering.

Azriel sends him off to his tent with the order to go straight to bed. Nobody knows what the next day will bring. Azriel takes the course for the Commanding tents, avoiding the long looks the soldiers are sending him. He stalls for far too long, roaming through the different parts of the camp and giving useless orders. Eventually, though, he has to make his way to his tent.

His steps falter slightly, wings tensing. Cass has a habit harbouring his anger over long times. He rarely forgives quickly and goes to great lengths to avoid “working it out”. He keeps grudges longer than any other person Azriel knows, which says a lot. There’s no way Cass has calmed down from their fight. And there’s no way he will accept a simple apology from Azriel.

Azriel takes a deep breath and enters the tent, thoughts immediately skidding to a stop. Cass is staring at him, face unnaturally cold. Azriel wants to do nothing more than to rush over, fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Azriel knows it won’t have any effect, though. Cass isn’t willing to do it yet. Cass looks him up and down once before focusing on the map again, not saying a word.

Rhys freezes when he sees the look passed between them, unsure of how to respond to this sudden development. Azriel ignores the concerned glance he sends and throws himself into laying out the details of the battlefields. No matter how much the Illyrian Lords try to throw him off, he has every single relevant answer ready. By sunrise, they have the plans ready and every Lord is rushing to get their legions prepared.

Cass leaves without even as much as a glance.

Azriel tries not to let it hurt.

Rhys arches an eyebrow in a silent question, but Azriel just shakes his head. It’s too recent to dig into and he knows that if he starts talking about it, he’ll break—cry and sob his way through an explanation. That kind of thing has no place in a war. If they survive this, Cass will probably have time to calm down.

“Will you help me with the armour?” Azriel asks, cringing when his voice breaks. Rhys tenses, but nods, a sorrowful gaze focused on Azriel. Azriel turns on his heels and stalks out, not even checking if Rhys follows. _You can’t just ignore it and pray that Cass will calm_ , the shadows say softly, but Azriel shoves them away. They’re hurt by that, but Azriel can’t bring himself to care.

When they reach Azriel’s tent, Rhys hesitates before entering. “Are you sure this is fine?” he asks, stare intense. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Azriel answers, already stripping off the light leathers. Rhys sucks in a breath, averting his eyes. “Cass wouldn’t like it,” he says quietly. “Well, Cass isn’t here, Rhys”

The answer comes out more aggressive than intended. Instead of addressing it, Azriel keeps stripping. Then he starts pulling on the heavy armour. The heavy armour leathers go on easily and Azriel turns around, inviting Rhys to tie up the leather laces. Rhys only hesitates for a second before starting on the task. “What’s going on between you?” he asks as his fingers do quick work.

“You don’t need to mind,” Azriel answers, squaring his shoulders. Rhys doesn’t answer except tying the laces more roughly. When Azriel pulls up his pants, Rhys helps with the laces that go up his entire left leg. Then he takes Azriel’s palm in his and taps the siphon twice. The scaled armour starts spreading over his body.

A rustling sounds from behind them and Azriel turns to find Cass in the entrance. Cass’s eyes fleet over Azriel already decked out in full armour and Rhys’s hold on his wrist. Then he gives Azriel a blank stare…and walks away. Pure indifference. That’s when a sob escapes Azriel’s mouth. Even aggression would’ve been better than that. _Anger_ would’ve been better than that.

Anything.

Rhys is staring at him, that usual empathy in his eyes. “Stop pitying me, I’m not fragile,” Azriel hisses, yanking his hand back. He turns away, hoping Rhys didn’t notice the tears brimming in his eyes. Rhys stands behind him for a moment before finally leaving.

Azriel releases the shadows.

They envelop him—the entire room—swallowing them in endless darkness. The shadows don’t talk, just lie there in silent support. They shut out any sound, letting his mind rest. They shut out all patterns, all figures and just gives him blank darkness. And finally, Azriel sinks to his knees and cries.

 

-:-

 

Azriel is at the front lines, some distance away from Rhys. Hybern’s forces are large, almost large enough to match the Illyrian legions. Azriel isn’t stupid. He knows that, even if they have larger numbers, Hybern won’t let them win easily. They have to thread this battle carefully. His own legion is hiding in small dips and hollows in the terrain, ready for a small ambush. It won’t give them much of an advantage, but it’ll help in confusing the enemy.

The soldiers behind him are tensing, wings already flared. Most of them have their blades unsheathed—raised. Azriel, himself, holds a longsword on one hand and Truthteller in the other. There’s no knowing how this battle will unfold.

There’s a coiling in his stomach, one who is so familiar yet unfamiliar. He will never get used to war. Nor the consequences that follow.

Hybern’s forces are approaching quickly, weapons raised. The Illyrian legions remain still. Better let _them_ tire themselves out. Cries sound out as Azriel’s legion attacks from below, and even more cries afterwards, when they can’t find the attackers. Azriel’s shadows are doing their job perfectly.

When they reach the bottom of the hill the Illyrian army is upon, Azriel swallows and braces his body. This is it. This is happening. For a moment, his mind flickers to Cass, at the front. How is he feeling right now? How many risks will he take to protect this place? Is he willing to give up his life? Knowing Cass, the answer to all of those questions is _yes._ His instincts scream at him to get over there and protect him. It’s what he should do. What his duty as a mate is. But he doesn’t.

“SHIELDS,” Cass bellows. The Illyrian shields are raised, blossoming with colour. Azriel’s own bloom high up in the air, the shadows giving him reports on where aerial enemies will appear. Hybern hits the shields. Some soldiers evaporate into thin air, some hit the shields and tumble backwards, some press through them.

And it has started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the default fight, look, I won't have them fighting for long, but in the books Azriel mentions that Cass had a big reaction when he hears about Jurian's instructions, so I decided to play off that. And I have this thing for people who really love each other fighting right before big battles and stuff.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you did, please comment!


	17. Stupid, But So Damn Brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the doctors who operated me fucked up by putting absolutely nothing between the stitching and the bandages on my wound, which means that when my mom changed it today it got stuck and I nearly blacked out from pain...But HEY I got a chapter finished so that's great! This chapter was actually very satisfying to write.  
> And can we all just give a big hand to RhycienSmut for commenting on every single chapter and being a very kind and sweet person overall? K, thnx.

It’s a messy battle.

Blood is covering Azriel’s hands; all the way up to his elbows. Somebody managed to nick his wing, a small gash along his outer bone. He’d lost his longsword somewhere, so he now had the sword of a Hybern soldier in his hand instead. His shadows are whipping around him, calmly informing him on the enemy’s positions and shielding him where needed.

It all passes in a blur. Soldiers dying at his hands, screaming for mercy; soldiers being choked by his shadows, eyes blazing with hatred. Lorelai ends up at his back, slashing through enemies with her twin Illyrian blades.

Azriel can’t help but have his shadows tied around Cass’s wrists, keeping an eye on him. He’d thought he could stay calm and calculated, leaving Cass to defend himself, but now… He wants to do nothing more than to throw down his weapons and run to him. For just a single moment he thinks: Screw Hybern and screw this war. He only wants Cass safe. _You’re being utterly pathetic_ , the shadows jeer as they rip a soldier apart from inside, _Just go to him_. _No,_ Azriel answers roughly, _I can’t_. They laugh at him.

Then a soldier charges for Lorelai and Azriel meets his blow with deadly accuracy. The male’s sword flies out of his hand and, with a second strike, his head topples to the ground. Lorelai is breathing heavily but keeps parrying and striking, never once letting Hybern through her defences.

Azriel flaps his wings once, twice and then he drops hard on a soldiers, crushing his body. Some kind of bloodlust overtakes him, makes him move savagely; without mercy or conscience. The shadows envelop him, turning him into the creature of nightmares everyone thinks him to be. It pains him slightly to become this, but he sees no other way.

Azriel’s mind races in a thousand different directions, his shadows scattering to follow. All around him Hybern soldiers buckle under his shadows and his blade, screaming at the terror they see in the darkness. Lorelai disappears somewhere through the slaughter, moving towards Nik. Azriel can see nothing but blood and severed limbs.

His blood is boiling; head racing; heart beating; muscles screaming. He supposes he and Cass share the desire and will to fight in such a way. He’s ready to behead one more faceless soldier, but then a calm settles over him. It’s that kind of deadly calm that rarely appears in Cass’s mind—it usually means he’s about to do something reckless, but deadly.

Azriel whips around, eyes going to the place where he last saw Cass. He has to search for a few seconds before finally catching sight of the male. Cass his charging towards a Hybern commander, a sword and shield in hand. His face is as cold as ice. The air snaps out of Azriel’s lungs. He moves without realizing, heart beating frantically.

_Fuck,_ Cass cannot do this now. He doesn’t care that they’ve fought, or that Cass probably still is mad at him. He has to stop him; it’s such a risk and he finds that he cannot bear to lose Cass like this, thinking that Azriel won’t care.

Cass is gaining more speed, face set in a hard mask of dedication. The commander he’s aiming for has frozen, stricken with fear. Azriel gasps out a “Wait” as Cass jumps, slamming into the commander. It’s brutal and quick. A few seconds and the commander is dead at Cass’s feet. A few seconds feel like an entire lifetime for Azriel.

He sees every single moment, second by second. Cass’s shield takes the brunt of the impact, his arm the aftereffects of it. Cass grits his teeth and a jolt of phantom pain runs up Azriel’s shield arm. His sword strikes and the commander’s body caves in. Cass lands safely and smoothly on the ground again, victory dripping from his blade.

It’s not a show for glory, he knows. It’s not to show off his skills in battle. Cass isn’t that shallow, he knows deep down. Cass is doing this for his army. For every fallen soldier and every injury to his people. To stop further death. And it hurts his very being that he ever dared think anything else of him. And told him such to his face.

The effect of the attack, though, cannot be denied. As Cass singles out a new target—Of course, that reckless idiot won’t give a second thought to his injury—the Hybern soldiers start running, terrified at Cass’s display. Some of the Illyrians give chase, arrows plunging down upon the fleeing soldiers. One whistle from Cass and they stop, wings beating to keep them still. The Summer Court’s army takes care of the rest.

Azriel doesn’t care as the soldiers start cheering. He doesn’t _fucking_ care about any of this. _Told you so,_ the shadows laugh. _When did you lot become so utterly useless at your job?,_ he throws back and fights down a blush. The shadows are silent after that, but they caress his cheek as if apologizing. Azriel hums.

He barks an order to the soldiers near him to find survivors and sets off—towards Cass, where he’s standing at the front. Everything else becomes a blur, not important enough to even take note of. He reaches Cass as the victory cheer reaches its climax.

Cass turns halfway, eyes glazed. His breath hitches when he catches sight of Azriel coming, sword clattering to the dirt. He takes a hesitant step backwards but, at that point, Azriel has already reached him. He grabs onto Cass’s hand and unbuckles the shield, letting it fall without a second thought. Cass is silent while Azriel starts pulling away the leather around his arm. Azriel swallows when a sharp stab of pain explodes in his arm, mirroring Cass’s. They need a healer for this injury.

“That was stupid,” Azriel says and Cass flinches, “But so damn brave”

He ghosts his fingers over the injured arm, feeling for tender spots. He has nothing to wipe away the blood with, too covered in it himself. “Wasn’t I so damn prideful, not brave?” Cass asks, coldly but without bite. He’s too exhausted, probably. Azriel swallows and slowly goes to his knees, bringing Cass’s hand down with him. He lays his lips against the bloodied skin. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, “I wasn’t thinking when I said that”

“No, you weren’t,” Cass agrees, body tense. Azriel can feel the eyes on them, soldiers and captives alike, staring at the strange display. Rhys is also watching, though more subtly. Azriel grips Cass’s fingers tighter. “I regretted those words the moment I exited the tent, you have to believe me,” Azriel begs, realizing that Cass is the only one who has made him so desperate for forgiveness.

“Then why did you keep walking?” Cass asks, voice still not betraying any emotion. Azriel stares at the ground, throat tightening. The shadows rub themselves at his sides. _Calm down_ , they soothe, _tell him everything_. “You usually need time after fights,” he finally manages, voice shaky, “I just thought…”

“Never with you, Az,” Cass interrupts sharply, “You’re my every exception”

Azriel falls silent, body shuddering with Cass’s words. He releases an unsteady breath, lips caressing Cass’s knuckles. “You hurt yourself too much with it,” Cass continues, voice softer now, “I could feel every heartbreak as if it was my own, Az, and I wanted nothing more than to pull you into my arms and hold you until you wouldn’t remember what crying felt like, but you never…you never made any indication you wanted to apologize, or even get an apology. I was ready to beg, you know, just to feel your skin again; to stop that bottomless pain.”

Azriel has heard enough. He rises again, body close to Cass’s. He gasps softly when he meets Cass’s eyes. They’re brimming with tears, a few of them running down his cheeks. “You’re too good for me,” Azriel says, leaning their foreheads together. He’s still cradling Cass’s arm between them. Cass leans forward, pressing a small kiss to his lips. “If you ever say that again,” he warns, eyes teasing now, “I will use an entire goddamn day to prove you otherwise”

Azriel flushes but smiles anyway. A tension, he hadn’t even realized was there, leaves his bones and heart. He collapses against Cass, letting him support his whole weigh. It’s been exhausting to stay away from Cass. He’d become so used to having Cass there as support, that even one day away from him has left him drained. He nuzzles into Cass’s neck, drawing in his scent. Cass purrs at that and tries to press their bodies closer, but flinches violently when his arm flares with pain.

“Let’s go get that looked at,” Azriel says and slides a hand over Cass’s shoulder, guiding him towards his tent.

 

-:-

 

Azriel stays with Cass through the entire healing, letting Cass clutch his hand tightly. Cass doesn’t make a noise while the healer works, though his gritted teeth tell how much pain he’s in. He leans in to nose at Azriel’s cheek now and then, smiling. The injury is worse than they’d thought, so when the pain gets almost unbearable, Cass starts talking. “You’re right, in some ways,” he breathes, “I’ve always been headstrong when it comes to taking orders from others. I’ll try to get better, but it’s a habit and…”

Azriel cuts him off with a kiss, which he’d done the last five times Cass had started down that route. It is very obvious, by this point, that Cass only keeps going back to it to get kisses out of him. He doesn’t really mind; not when he has Cass back in his arms. One time, though, he has to pull away due to the healer uttering an uncomfortable cough. When the healer is finally finished Cass slumps against Azriel, sweat beading on his forehead.

Azriel thanks and dismisses the healer before letting Cass lie down on the cot. He quickly finds a cloth and a bucket with cold water, wets the cloth and starts wiping at Cass’s forehead. Cass lets out a pleased sigh when the cloth comes in contact with his skin. Azriel then puts it down and starts to undress Cass.

The armour disappears easily and Azriel works quickly on the leathers’ laces. Cass grasps after him while he works, fingers fleeting over any bare part of Azriel he can find. “I know it’s only been a day, but…it feels like I haven’t touched you in an eternity,” Cass mutters and Azriel finds himself flushing again. He strips off his own leathers, too, and starts wiping off the blood clinging to his skin.

When he’s done, he starts on Cass. He starts on the hands and periodically reaches up to run his hand through Cass’s hair. Cass closes his eyes and lets Azriel coddle him, which is unusual in itself. Cass has to be pretty tired to let him do this. A realization hits him. “How much sleep did you get last night?” he asks while reaching over and starting on Cass’s other hand. “None,” Cass answers, “I couldn’t sleep without you, never can these days”

Azriel’s face burns hot and he ducks to hide in Cass’s neck. Cass’s chuckle rumbles underneath him and Cass’s clean hand comes up to rest at his nape. “Can you stay tonight?” Cass asks quietly, so unlike that steady hold he has on him. “Of course,” Azriel answers, “I won’t leave you again”

Cass smiles against his temple, scooting back on the cot to make space for him. Azriel follows, curling over Cass, wings spreading wide. Cass sighs and reaches out to brush his fingers over them. Azriel shivers but lets Cass continue. “I’m your only exception?” he asks—can’t help the quiver in his voice.

“The only one, love”

 

-:-

 

Azriel sighs, breath misting in front of him. Rhys had sent him out to scout for Hybern’s armies two days ago, and he’d yet to find anything. He’d taken Nik, Lorelai and Wrigh with him, the three of them currently spread in the air and searching. He, himself, is treading slowly through the woods of Autumn, looking for the smallest signs. Hybern hasn’t made a single sound since the battle at the edge of the Summer Court, which downright terrifies him. Never before has he _not_ been able to find the enemy—even in the last war against Hybern they’d left _something_.

What unnerves him even more is his separation from Cass. Two days without his mate has made him skittish and uneasy, taking his attention completely. There’s no doubt that Cass is feeling the exact same thing; maybe even worse now that Azriel is out in the field. Cass's sanity now relies on Azriel making it back alive.

So instead of constantly thinking of Cass and letting the mating bond take over, he’s been delving into his shadows. He’s barrelling downwards into their endless pit, gathering their darkness within himself. If it comes to it, he has to become a formless monster. He’s scared of it—what these powers can do to him—but he’s willing to do it.

At the same time, he’s sent small tendrils all over Prythian, but also out into the sea—beyond known land. Even now, he’s left some small patches on that shore. If they need it. Because they’re going to need it. The shadows are complaining through the entirety of it, moaning at being sent so far away from him and having to stay that way. He doesn’t care.

A beating of wings breaks into his mind and he looks up to see Lorelai diving down through the trees, Wrigh following her down. She lands hard, breathing heavy. She stumbles three steps before finally steadying herself, a hand on Wrigh’s shoulder. “They’re coming,” she gasps, “Up between Summer and Autumn. Nik saw them about five minutes ago, he’s staying to keep an eye on them”

Azriel immediately sends a shadow to keep an eye on Nik. When he receives the report that Nik is safe and unharmed, he meets Lorelai’s eyes. “It appears they’re tired from moving,” Wrigh adds, tone dry enough that Azriel catches the implications. “You think it’s a trap?” he asks. Wrigh shrugs. “Knowing Hybern, probably”

Azriel nods, considering their options. He’s about to give them orders when a high-pitched screech rips through the forest. He curses and starts beating his wings. “Up!” he yells at Lorelai and Wrigh. They’re over the trees within seconds. Azriel tells the shadows to fetch Nik and then takes a dive for the Summer Court. Wrigh and Lorelai spread out, angling away from him.

Azriel sends a feeler of shadow behind him and the image he gets back sends shivers down his spine. Something that isn’t a naga anymore—and maybe never had been. The creature prowls around the clearing they were just in, black drivel seeping out of the corners of its mouth. It has no eyes, just deformed, coal-black skin. It gives a deafening roar and throws itself into the sky after them.

_Shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, they wouldn't be fighting for long. I feel like when Az and Cass really get time to be mature, they talk about stuff like this because they know miscommunication is not the way to go. There's gonna be some goody goody smut next chapter tho, so look forward to that.  
> If you enjoyed this chapter, leave a comment!


	18. Deep Dive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this took longer to write. Somehow, my reading is tied to my writing in a way. Because these last few weeks I've been struggling my way through A Song of Ice and Fire, and my writing went very slow and now that I've picked up a YA book with a quick plot, my writing suddenly goes very quick???? Idk it's black magic. Bc I used an entire week to write 900 words, but yesterday I churned out around 2000 words??? Anyways, enjoy!

Azriel winnows in on the edge of the camp, breathing heavily. He can only hope Lorelai and Wrigh are able to bring the beast down by themselves. The beast was probably there to keep them distracted, so they wouldn’t find anything. Luckily, though, it hadn’t been quick enough.

Azriel races for the Commanding tent, the look in his eyes enough to send people sprawling out of his way. He bursts into the tent, breathless, at first only pointing and gesturing randomly. The Illyrian Lords look on, unimpressed, but Rhys smiles slightly. Tarquin reaches out a hand, concerned, but Azriel shakes his head. Cass is already at his side, a hand on his waist.

“Up between Summer and Autumn,” he manages, “They appear to be tired, but Nik thinks it’s just a trick”

Rhys nods once, a hand stroking his chin. “So, they’re trying to make us launch an attack and then overwhelm us,” he says. Azriel nods, sinking into Cass’s grip on him. Both Rhys and Cass throw themselves into a discussion with the Lords, determining best options for approach and formations.

After some arguments and one pitcher of water flying across the space, they’ve figured out what legions are going and where they’re to be placed. The Darkbringers are to go first—pick out their weakest. The Summer legions will make out most of the ground army, with some Illyrians—Including Rhys, Cass and Azriel—blended in. The rest of the Illyrians make out the aerial legions, which will be concealed by wards at first to make Hybern believe they’ve fallen for their ploy.

Tarquin quickly leaves the tent, unnerved by the various Illyrian Lords. Even exhausted and drowsy, Azriel could pick up on the glances they’d sent him and gestures they had used when talking about him. Non-Illyrian males have never been viewed with the same respect as Illyrians by their kind, and it’s clear that the Lords are not particularly impressed with Tarquin.

Rhys and Feyre follow him, Feyre throwing one withering glare over her shoulder. One of the Lords bares his teeth right back at her, but the rest are cleverer and stay still. Cass guides Azriel further inside, his hand rubbing circles into Azriel’s hip. Azriel gives a small noise of approval, which earns a snicker from one of the Lords. “I don’t see you out scouting in enemy territory, jerk,” Cass spits at him.

After their rather dramatic reunion on the battlefield, ending with Azriel kneeling in front of Cass, the Lords had decided that Azriel had gone soft. The fact that he usually was the one to bend over didn’t help his case. They don’t fear him as much as before, even with the shadows there. Against his better judgement, he gets annoyed at that.

The Lord opens his mouth, but Azriel lashes a shadow at him and leans further into Cass. “How are the Illyrian legions to be placed, then?” Devlon asks, avoiding further conflict in favour of the battleplans. Cass gives short but calculated directions, with no room for protest. One of the Lords bristles, when his legions are directed to the back, and Cass has to calm him with some bullshit that they need their strongest ones to hold the last line between the camp and Hybern.

Finally, the discussion is over but, much to Azriel’s annoyance, the Lords won’t leave the tent. They stay to criticise Cass’s fighting in the last battle and point out even the smallest of mistakes he made. They know Cass won’t lash out at them—not with Azriel in his embrace—so they think they can do whatever they want. Azriel gives one growl and tells Cass: “Make them leave”

Cass dismisses the Illyrian Lords, with much protest, and proceeds to bend Azriel over the table.

Azriel cries out when he’s pushed forward, Cass’s hand on the low of his back. Cass pushes him slowly to give time for protests, but Azriel knows he doesn’t have any. He presses his palms flat against the table and rests his forehead between them. He squeals when Cass kicks his legs apart.

Then Cass’s hands are moving—first he grips Azriel’s hips to place them in the perfect position, then runs the tips of his fingers down the back of Azriel’s thighs and makes him shiver. He’s ached for Cass’s touch for these last two days, lonely beyond reason. He loves how Cass’s fingers feel on his skin, something he’s not used to. Cass had probably sensed it, though, and that had led to this situation.

Cass bends over Azriel, reaches around him and starts unlacing his’s leathers. “Missed me, did you?” he whispers in Azriel’s ear, nibbling at it. Azriel whimpers, hips instinctively jerking out. Cass smiles against his skin and stops unlacing, only jerking Azriel’s leathers down to his thighs.

Cass straightens up again, one hand cupping Azriel’s ass. He squeezes it once. “I would’ve spanked you,” he says, earning a moan from Azriel, “but we’ve kind of got a war tomorrow, so I’ll leave you be…later, though, I may give you what you want if you beg enough”

Cass goes to his knees. Azriel makes a noise of surprise but stays still. Cass caresses his hips, tracing patterns and occasionally pinching at it. Then he grips on tighter and slips his thumbs down the crack of Azriel’s ass. A flush creeps up his neck when he feels Cass spread his cheeks. He feels Cass’s breath ghost over the sensitive insides of his thighs. His hips start shaking, only steadied by Cass’s grip on them.

“Cass,” he gasps, “You can’t…Not _here_ ” “I want to, love,” Cass mutters, “Let me make you feel good”

Cass leans in, tongue flicking out to lap once at the swell of Azriel’s ass—following it with a bite. Azriel whimpers as Cass’s teeth dig into his plump flesh and let go again, tongue coming out to lap at the now sensitive skin. Azriel’s face burns bright, fingernails scraping against the table.

Cass moves further in, his tongue flickering lightly against Azriel’s hole. Azriel’s back arches and his body burns with heat. Cass follows up by sliding his tongue in a long, wet arc from balls to cleft. His hands move, coming up under Azriel’s thighs, and grips him tight. “Sensitive?” Cass chuckles against his skin and Azriel growls in answer.

Cass opens his mouth wide and lays it over Azriel’s twitching hole, sucking. Azriel’s hips buck against him, a high-pitched whine escaping his mouth. He tries to spread his legs wider, canting his hips in a way that’ll give Cass more access. Cass growls, pleased, against him, sending vibrations through Azriel’s shivering form.

Then Cass puts more pressure against the hole, tongue pressing in, and Azriel _writhes_ , throwing his head back with a loud moan. “ _Yes_ , like that,” he gasps as his head falls down again, burning skin meeting the cool surface, “Please, don’t stop, Cass, you’re being _so, so_ good for me”

He can’t think—can’t focus on anything but the wet muscle sliding into him, sucking and pressing against his tight walls. Azriel can barely breathe as Cass starts to fuck him with his tongue. Azriel breathes heavily, dark locks falling into his eyes and cheeks blazing. His hips jerk away on instinct for a small moment, leaving his behind bare to the biting air.

Cass tightens his grip on Azriel’s thighs and yanks him back again, thrusting his tongue back inside with a growl. Azriel chokes as Cass starts rocking him back and forth, creating a steady rhythm. He nearly jumps in surprise when he feels dampness on his cheeks. He’s crying. By the Mother, he’s _crying_.

“Make me come, Cass,” he says, rocking his hips to help him, “Please, make me come like this.”

His body is quaking, fingers convulsing against the table. He’s a wet, needy mess—As he always is when Cass has his hands on him. Cass drags his fingernails down that delicate skin on the inside of his thighs and he screams. His vision blurs and his back arches; he’s entirely up from the table at this point, palms flat against the surface. “Yes,” he breathes.

It’s only when Cass pulls away, licking at his own lips, and Azriel himself sinks to his knees, that he notices that he came. His cum is sliding down his sweat-slicked thighs and also dripping from the edge of the table. He shivers when Cass leans forward to lick it off.

Cass looks over at him and grins. “You taste delicious,” he says, sending a flush up Azriel’s cheeks.

 

-:-

 

Azriel does a final check on his leathers, making sure every buckle and strap is placed perfectly. He knows he doesn’t really have to, because Cass is the one who placed them, but he does so anyway. Mor and Feyre are a distance away from him, Feyre in her leathers and Mor in her blood-red, scaled armour. Rhys and Cass are somewhere arguing with the Illyrian Lords over some small matter. After the…incident in the tent, many of them claimed that Azriel was a hindrance to the General’s decision-making, therefore he should be relieved of his position.

Azriel had never heard so much bullshit in his entire life as he did listening to them go on for hours about their unprofessionalism. When Rhys had to promise them that “They will not try to fuck in the Commanding tent again” he threw a glance with an arched eyebrow at them and Cass had the decency to look ashamed. Azriel had just met his gaze.

The shadows nip at his cheek, tense and skittering around his feet. They’ve been like that for a few days now; restless. He sends them to check on Daeva just to give them something to do. It makes him uncomfortable when they’re not calm.

Rhys lands beside him, face drawn tight. “You couldn’t have done it _anywhere else_?” he asks, annoyed but there’s a slight amusement there. “Take that up with Cass,” Azriel answers, blushing brightly. Rhys chuckles and shoves his shoulder. But his smile falls quickly when his eyes go out over the field.

“Many are going to die today,” he mutters, stance tensing. Azriel follows his gaze to the various hills, covered in dead grass and wet mud. Hybern’s work, no doubt. Fighting is going to be a nightmare. And they’ve prepared their armies for that.

Drums start echoing from the collective darkness of the Hybern camps. The army stills, attention going to the advancing army. Azriel takes a defensive stance and raises his hand, holding up two fingers. The Illyrians behind him fall into position. “Here we go,” Rhysand breathes. Azriel calls his shadows back, sending them underground—towards Hybern.

Their confidence and arrogance flows through his veins, the shadows shuddering in revulsion. Their lines are uneven, giving the impression of a tired army. They know better, though. The Illyrians had all been incredibly offended at that Hybern thought they would ever fall for something like that. The way they all growl now strengthens that attitude.

Azriel curls down one of his fingers and the Illyrians start moving, subsequently dragging the Summer Court armies with them. Rhys throws him a glance before he takes off, moving to his own legion. Azriel doesn’t make a bullshit speak—doesn’t need to—the Illyrians know what monstrosities he can perform.

The Darkbringers start working and the front lines of Hybern disappear in a swoop of dark mist. The next line buckles with broken bones. The third one loses their heads before they can cross. Azriel drops his hand and draws the shadows back in, holding them in his muscles. He draws Truth-teller and flings himself forward, the army charging behind him.

He draws the first blood, Truth-teller easily slicing through a man’s throat. Azriel catches his body and shoves it into the next charging soldier, toppling him to the ground. Before the soldier can rise, Azriel has drawn the sword from his back and plunged it through both of their bodies. He removes the blade when the soldier has stopped trashing and takes one quick look over the battlefield.

Most of the enemy soldiers are caught between fighting and panicking, not expecting their forces to stand this strong. A grim satisfaction settles over Azriel. At least they have an advantage now. As he finds another opponent, he sends a feeler down the mating bond and a few terrifying seconds pass before he receives an answer; a small shimmer of reassurance—and an urge to fight harder, because Cass will kill him if he dies.

Azriel loses himself in the fight, refusing to let the shadows go loose. _Calm down_ , he tells them when they try to lash out, _I don’t need you right now_. _Let us fight, let us kill_ , they hiss, sounding like the otherworldly, lethal beings they are—like they’ve always been. It’s just that they normally apply themselves to Azriel’s standards of speech and…hostility. Now that he hasn’t allowed them to do their job in a few days, they’ve gotten more and more like when they first appeared to him.

In the corner of his eye, he sees Lorelai and Nik dive down from Hybern’s side, taking off surprised soldiers like flies. Wrigh is already at his twin’s side, blades singing. The rest are spread throughout the Illyrian legions, their smooth and subtle strength being used as shields themselves—their small forms appearing wherever their small, precise strikes are needed.

For some goddamn reason, Cass chooses this moment to be stupid again. Azriel can see him as he shoots up from the ground and lands in the midst of Hybern’s forces. He cries out, body lurching, mating bond screaming. Azriel feels it when a blow is landed to Cass’s side and then when a blade nicks his shoulder. The man he had a hold on crumbles in his arms, sliding into the mass of voices in his shadows. He gives him a swift death, doesn’t have time for anything else.

And then, with the mating bond roaring, he throws himself into the air, as well. Rhys tries to reach his mind, but the mating bond already has him too far gone. Cass is being _stupid,_ and he needs to protect him. He lands with a thundering blast of Siphons, shattering very soldier around him to ashes. “You _idiot_ ,” he shouts at Cass as he flings Truth-teller into a soldier’s chest. Cass only grins at him. Somehow, that only makes Azriel angrier.

He growls and uses his Siphons on another third of the soldiers around them. It’s not enough. They come pouring, some of them normal fae, some of them half-beasts and mutants. They quickly learn both Cass and Azriel’s fighting styles, applying opposing tactics smoothly. Azriel loosens a growl and is about to loosen another Siphon blow when a light flashes and Mor unleashes herself upon their opponents.

Mor fights wonderfully, her armour glinting in the sunlight. She lays herself in their blind spot, fighting with her twin blades. They’re all deadly by themselves, but together they’re more than deadly. Together they’re gods. The masses around them almost withdraw at the sight of Mor, but they still press on—thirsting after the glory of killing Rhys’s three closest commanders. How cute.

Mor releases her Truth upon them and Azriel almost feels sorry for them. At least they burn brightly. Mor’s braid has come loose when she’s finished, curls fanning over her forehead. She takes a breath and throws herself back into fighting again. Azriel follows her example.

_Can we kill now?_ , the shadows whine, sounding childish and wicked at the same time. _Soon_ , he promises them and knows that he can’t walk out of this battle without letting them loose. He parries a blow and, with help from his wings, vaults over the soldier he’d killed earlier and yanks Truth-teller out of his chest.

He’s about to land a blow when his stomach blazes hot. He roars and doubles over, Siphons instinctively releasing a wave of death. The burning doesn’t fade. It stays in his body, searing through him and pulling him into an infernal hell. He breathes hard, twisting around, catching Mor’s terrified expression in the process. His ears start ringing when he sees Cass on his knees, his guts spilling halfway out of sliced skin.

A Hybern soldier is over Cass, sword swinging for his neck. The world stops for Azriel. He disappears within himself and his sword clatters to the ground. _Kill,_ he orders the shadows. They gleefully obey. The soldier’s neck is snapped before he can move another inch. When Azriel’s released a small sliver of them, there’s nothing stopping the shadows.

They explode over the army, drowning out cries and yells of surprise. They swallow up most of Hybern’s armies quickly, relishing in the life they draw out of the men. Azriel rushes to Cass, stumbling over his own feet. His hands, shaking, go out in front of him and he presses them to Cass’s stomach. Cass’s guts squirm under his fingers and he has to swallow down his own vomit.

Cass’s forehead lands against Azriel’s shoulders. Azriel makes a shadow tear open the leathers under Cass’s head and a wave of relief passes through him when he feels Cass’s breath ghosting over his skin. Mor is at their side in seconds.

“Goodness, Az, what did you do? They’re gone…all gone,” she gasps, putting up a makeshift shield around them, “Shit, we need to get him help”

Azriel growls, already aware. The shadows rush up Azriel’s fingers, laying themselves against Cass’s wound and keeps steady there. _He’ll make it_ , they say, so much calmer now, _We won’t let him die_. Azriel feels like he should cry and sob, but he can’t. The only thing he sees is Cass’s blood pouring down over his fingers and the coldness of Cass’s skin.

“We need to move him,” Mor croaks.

Azriel nods but doesn’t pull away. He growls when someone tries to pick up Cass. He glances up at Rhys, glowering. Rhys takes a deep breath and goes down on his knees. His eyes say enough for Azriel to let go. He sits behind for a few moments when Rhys carries Cass away. He blasts pleads down the bond, adding some small declarations of love. A small warmth makes its way back, and Azriel is able to breathe again. He's going to make it.

Mor pulls him to his feet and he’s rushing after Rhys in seconds. Mor follows close behind him, clasping his hand in hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we got both Smut and Angst. Honestly, it's difficult to have raised stakes in this fic bc we all already know the outcome of ACOWAR, but I intend to change quite a bit in the later chapters; adding and removing different plot points. You'll notice that during the fight in the book, Prythian's armies are caught off-guard by Hybern, but I honestly doubt that they actually would fall for Hybern's ruse so I changed it.


	19. You Could Have Died

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo! So, I managed to finish that goddamn history text (I actually reached the requirement for word amount), so writing other things are going to get easier. I also submitted two of my original works to something called UKM (U can search it up if u want), it's a kind of competition and one of the works (I don't know which, yet) is actually advancing to the second round. YAY! Anyways enjoy the chap!

The air inside the tent is humid, carrying a stench that is unique to blood and death. The healer is crouched over Cass, hands working swiftly over his stomach. Azriel can barely breathe through the lump in his throat. Cass’s blood is still dripping from his fingertips, but he can’t bring himself to move; to take his eyes off Cass. He’d growled at the healer twice before calming enough to see reason. By the Mother, he’d almost ripped Rhys apart for even _touching_ him.

Rhys is pacing at the edge of the tent, despair and worry rolling off him in waves, face set in a calm mask of rage. The only times he speaks are when soldiers come to take orders about survivors and further organizing. Even then, he’s curt and short in his words. He goes as far as to refuse to see the Illyrian Lords.

Lucien stands awkwardly by his side, eyes tracking his movements. He’d arrived a few minutes after them and had received a small peck from Rhys before the High Lord had resumed his pacing. He’d swallowed at the sight of Cass and Azriel, not daring to comment. Now he offered Azriel a small smile. Azriel didn’t have it in him to smile back.

Mor bursts into the tent in a flurry of red. She’d been reluctant to leave at first but had finally grown tired of seeing Cass’s mangled flesh and left to find food. She hadn’t found anything; if her empty hands were anything to go by. Daeva is perched on her shoulder, though. She stops at Azriel’s side and sneaks her hand around his waist, leaning her head on his chest. Before Cass, he would’ve blushed and tried to pull away, his love for her overwhelming, but now…there’s only a feeling of gratitude. He doesn’t know if it’s relieving.

Rhys stops pacing. “Where is Feyre?” he asks Mor, face unreadable. Mor stills, tensing. “She said she would stay where I left her,” she says meekly, “She said…I—” the next words are forced out of her mouth “—I don’t know”

Rhys stares at her, wings bristling, Lucien coming up to his side with a hand on his shoulder.

“You _don’t know_?”

Azriel steps in between them, refusing to let this happen. “She made Feyre promise to stay,” he says, holding a hand out, “There was nothing more she could’ve done”

Rhys stares for a few more moments before sighing and dragging a hand through his hair, turning to bury his face in Lucien’s shoulder. Mor relaxes, leaning on Azriel heavily. The healer grunts and pulls her hands away, wiping them on her skirts before returning to her initial position. Mor glances up at Azriel but doesn’t speak, letting the healer do her job. Daeva decides to move, jumping from Mor’s shoulder to Azriel’s.

About six minutes later Feyre enters, stopping abruptly at the sight of Cass. Rhys and Lucien are instantly at her side, hands reaching out. She asks them something, but Azriel can’t hear her. The mating bond is rushing in his ears and he shifts his attention to the bed just as Cass stirs. He doesn’t dare touch Cass—won’t put more blood on him. Rhys throws out a sly remark that Azriel still can’t hear. Cass answers something just as aggressive if Rhys’s face is anything to go by.

“Your guts were hanging out,” Rhys sneers, “Az had to _hold them in_ for you”

Azriel swallows as Cass’s eyes go to him. Cass’s eyes go from Azriel’s face to his bloodied fingers. Even with Rhys’s anger, Cass is still dismissive with his own injury and possible death. Cass doesn’t care that his blood is covering Azriel’s hands. Azriel fists his hands, the roaring rush in his ears turning deafening. Cass sighs and shifts in the bed, groaning when the healer pushes him down in the old position and resumes her healing.

A heavy silence falls, where Feyre slumps against Lucien—defeated. It’s the first time she’s experiencing it, Azriel realizes, Cass’s recklessness. At least Lucien has seen him perform such things before.

Mor leans out of the tent for a moment and returns with a bucket of water and some washcloths. She side-steps Rhys, who is exchanging verbal blows with Cass. She sets the bucket down at Azriel’s feet and dips a washcloth in it. “Hands,” she says. Azriel obediently, but reluctantly, holds his hands out and Mor starts wiping, cleaning away the layers of blood.

With each layer gone, the roaring in his ears lessens. She handles his hands softly, as he always had imagined her doing. It’s relieving to know that she doesn’t hate to touch his scars and that she doesn’t find them repulsing. Soon enough, Azriel has calmed enough to be able to hear things going on around them.

“You could have died,” Rhys says, his voice raw and breaking. It sends a shard of ice into Azriel’s heart. It’s so difficult for Rhys, he knows, to let them go off in fights. He loves them too much. Too scared of losing them so brutally. After saving them from their horrible lives, he doesn’t want them to suffer anymore. Wants them to bathe and live in happiness.

“So could you,” Cass answers, voice hard and unyielding.

Rhys turns away and runs his hands through his hair. Then he turns back with a sigh. “Even after Hybern…I can’t stomach it,” he says and Azriel can see the tears shining in his eyes. He can’t handle seeing the two of them hurt. They’ve always been Rhys’s highest priority—the two of them. Even with Feyre and Lucien present, there’s something special about Rhys’s bond with them. An unyielding force of love and support.

Cass leans forward and clasps onto Rhys’s arm, gripping tightly. At that, Mor drops the bloodied cloth into the bucket, picks it up and leaves, tugging Feyre along with her. She throws a small smile over her shoulder. Lucien pauses, hesitant, before Helion’s loud voice sounds from a meek distance away, and then he’s out the opening. The healer gives short instructions on how long Cass should rest and then she follows them out. When the flaps fall closed, a silence falls where Cass and Rhys are staring intently at each other.

“It’s not just _you_ that gets hurt when you do things like these, Cass,” Rhys finally says, letting himself be tugged down on the bed. Azriel tenses, instincts roaring, but stays still—won’t move before they resolve this. “To my knowledge, it is,” Cass answers as he places Rhys’s hand between his own, eyes downcast. “ _Cass_ ,” Rhys insists.

“I’m the one who was stupid and got stabbed,” Cass quickly says, “I didn’t see it affect anyone else”

His voice is hard, now, as it always is when he takes a defensive position. Azriel swallows, ready to move, but Rhys is one step ahead of him. “And what about Az?” he sneers, jerking his head towards Azriel. Cass’s eyes follow his movements, falling on Azriel’s form. Azriel, himself, tenses. “Did they hurt you?” Cass asks quietly and Azriel rolls his eyes.

“You were the one who got hurt, Cass,” he says and shocks himself when his voice comes out raspy. The memory of what happened on their journey to the tent and the few minutes afterwards are a blur. Azriel isn’t surprised if he’d screamed in that short time. It doesn’t make it better that is throat is tight; choked by unshed tears. Twice, he’s almost lost Cass. Only now it hurts more, because Cass is a bigger part of him now. If he’s to lose Cass, he’ll lose half of himself.

Cass stays quiet and looks away. Azriel doesn’t know what he’s feeling—what he’s thinking—and it hinders his approach to the male. He doesn’t know what to say or do, afraid that one word wrong will trigger more defensiveness. “It’s not just _you_ anymore, brother,” Rhys comments, eyes trained on Azriel, “Not just your legions, either. You have a Mate. And you constantly throw yourself into deadly situations without thinking about the consequences. What would’ve happened if you’d died today, huh? Azriel would be in no condition to defend himself, or others. The Mother knows how long it would’ve taken him to recover”

Cass finally has the sense to look ashamed, eyes falling down again. Pain flashes down the bond and Azriel can tell that Cass is imagining just the scenario Rhys has described. Azriel inches closer, itching to touch and comfort his mate. There’s so much regret and shame in the feeling that sinks into his bones now. Cass has always been a reckless fighter—a habit that’s hard to kick. He needs to help and protect, no matter what it does to _him_ , because that’s the kind of person he is. Strongheartedly selfless.

Azriel surges forward, sinking down next to Rhys on the mattress. Rhys slings a hand around his shoulder, squeezing tightly. Cass’s body angles towards Azriel, seeking his body heat. “At least tell me the next time you’ll doing something stupid,” Azriel drawls as he reaches out his hand and cups Cass’s cheek.

Cass snorts.

“Cass,” Azriel mutters.

“Yeah, yeah,” Cass says, nibbling at Azriel’s hand, “I’ll try to speak to you next time, I swear it”

Azriel is relieved at the sincerity in his voice and eyes. Every other time they’ve tried to make him more careful, he’s dismissed them or given a dishonest answer. But not now. Now Cass knows what the consequences will be if he falls. Cass drops Rhys’s hand and lays one hand on Rhys’s thigh and the other on Azriel’s hip. Azriel lets the shadows come down his arm to twist around Cass’s wrist.

“Swear to me on all the honour you have that you won’t try something like this again,” he mutters, comfortable enough, at this point, to let a bit of vulnerability bleed through. He keeps his eyes downcast, trying to hide the tears brimming there. Rhys titters and tilts his head up again, smiling softly. It’d taken some time for Azriel to get used to it. The ability to be _open_ around them and let them comfort him without any judgement. Sometimes he even forgets it, when he’s burrowed far into his shadows and nightmares.

It doesn’t take long for the tears to start streaming. “I swear it,” Cass says, hand rubbing circles into his hip. That triggers the sobs. Cass, despite the healer’s insists _not to_ , leans forward until his breath hits Azriel’s cheek. His tongue flickers out, licking away the escaped tears. Azriel jerks slightly but doesn’t move away—lets Cass do what he wants. Rhys’s breath catches beside him; a laugh stifled as a cough. Azriel knocks their shoulders together, smiling now. Cass growls against his skin before backing off, eyes blazing. “I swear,” Rhys deadpans, “If you’re horny right now…”

Azriel shoves Cass back on the bed with a groan, crawling over him to lay, squeezed, between Cass and the fabric of the tent. Rhys chuckles and lays himself down on Cass’s other side, hand reaching over to clasp Azriel’s. “Isn’t it fun?” Rhys mutters, “Five hundred years and we still press ourselves into one bed and cling onto each other like whelps” “If I remember correctly, you were the one who started that tradition,” Cass teases, sinking into their shared warmth. “Who can blame me?” Rhys answers with a soft swat to Cass’s chest, “The two most handsome males in the camp; who wouldn’t want to fall asleep pressed between the two of you”

Azriel hums, burrowing into Cass’s neck. Cass’s muscled arm comes around him and clutches him tight, shifting his body into a more comfortable position. “We always made you mist your wings, so you could lay between us,” Azriel muses, eyes drooping. Somehow, laying here pressed against his mate—clasping his brother’s hand, has made him so content and relaxed. He always gets sleepy when he’s relaxed, because he’s too tense to notice his needs the rest of the time. Cass shifts, his wings coming up on both Rhys and Azriel’s sides to wrap halfway around them. Azriel sighs softly and falls heavily back on it, his own wings drawing in tighter. Rhys spreads his left wing wide, covering all three of them.

Cass squints. “Is it me or have his wings gotten bigger?”

Azriel cocks his head, sleepy eyes on the membrane over them. “I—I don’t think so,” he slurs, “Just your mind, I have the biggest one…in every proportion”

“Keep telling yourself that”

“I do”

“You know I’m bigger than you, you _felt_ it that night in the Dawn Court”

Azriel cranes his neck to get a glimpse of Cass’s face. “You _are_ pretty big”

Rhys groans and reaches out a hand to slap at Cass’s cheek. “No. This is pure cuddling and brotherly love,” he scolds them, “No talk of your private times”

Cass smiles but doesn’t push it further. He presses a soft kiss to Azriel’s forehead, while Rhys noses at Cass’s cheek. The world is quiet around them—almost as if the Cauldron has paused everything to let them have this one moment of peace. Azriel feels like even the air around them has halted, not even moving a hair, scared to disturb, in a way. Rhys sighs softly—more softly than usual these days. It’s a sound that he hadn’t really made lately; in fifty years, to be specific. They’ve started to heal—all of them. Alas, as all peaceful things do, it’s not to last.

Nesta comes bursting into the tent, skirts fluttering around her feet. Of course, Azriel can’t see for Rhys’s wing folded over them, but the shadows give him a clear view. She stops a short distance from the bed, eyes fleeting over their tangled bodies. “Get out,” she sneers at Rhys, “I need to talk to Cass” “I’m not really in the mood to move right now,” Rhys says, annoyed, “And don’t call him Cass, only we get to do that”

Rhys really doesn’t give a shit today. First, the Illyrian Lords, then Cass and now Nesta. He takes no prisoners. Nesta fists her hands, face falling in an emotionless mask. “I won’t have you dismiss me like this,” she says sternly, “I don’t care if that shadow-creature bends for him…”

Cass’s snarl stops her voice and makes her cool expression fall. “Collect yourself,” Cass says, not even opening his eyes, “And come back when you can talk to my mate without insulting him”

“I don’t _care_ if he’s your mate…”

“You should; now leave”

In all their years of killing and bloodshed, Cass’s voice has never been this cold. Even the most heartless of monsters he’s slain, he’s talked to in his calm, dangerous voice. Such promise of death. But never such coldness. He knows it shouldn’t, but it warms Azriel’s heart. That Cass goes to such lengths for him; delves into new parts of himself because of Azriel. His mate.

When Nesta’s scent finally has left the tent, Rhys curls further over them, wing coming down lower. It creates a kind of safe space, where it’s just the three of them without any pain, trauma or monsters to break them apart. Cass’s fingers on Azriel’s collarbone start tracing his tattoo, following every dark swirl and line of runes. He doesn’t even look at Azriel as he does it; knows his tattoos by heart. Cass’s fingers go from his shoulder down that wide, intricate line of poetry, written in ancient runes, that follows his spine.

_The darkness was my unyielding master, but when I mastered it we bowed as equals._

He’d found the line in an ancient book that Rhys had brought him, full of information on Shadowsingers. It wasn’t in the endless paragraphs he’d gotten the line, though. The margins had been filled with footnotes by Shadowsingers, documenting their thoughts and experiences. After the first one, he’d gotten more of their lines tattooed various places on his body—the memory of powerful, deadly fae that had disappeared over the centuries. He didn’t find it right that they be forgotten, so he’d honoured them in his own way.

Rhys has teased him endlessly for it when he’d first decided on it, but when the words had finally been inked into his skin, Rhys had only given a small, approving nod. Cass hadn’t even commented on it—not even when he held Azriel’s hand through the entire inking—he’d just asked when they’d get to crush his brothers. It’s a fond memory.

Sleep finds him quickly, seeping into his body and blood. He slumps against Cass’s strong side, head sliding down into the crook of Cass’s neck. Cass and Rhys keep chatting quietly, their voices blending together in a pleasant, deep rumble that lulls Azriel further into his dreams. His body draws itself tight, seeking Cass’s warmth. The shadows loosen themselves, fleeting over and through Azriel’s skin.

_We’ve found some interesting things_ , they whisper as they start undoing the knots in his back and neck from the inside out, using the connection they have to his muscles to ease them out in whatever way they want. _Care to share?_ , Azriel asks, eyes slowly closing. _We found them,_ they explain, _the ones above the waters, at least._ So no signs of the others. Azriel knew it was a fool’s errand when he started searching for them, but there was still that one small spark of hope that they still lived, so now his heart fills with disappointment. At least they’d found something.

_Fill me in tomorrow,_ he orders the shadows, _Let’s sleep now_.

The shadows sing in agreement and lay themselves to rest over Azriel’s skin, following and imitating his tattoos. Rhys’s wings rustle slightly, lowering, as he also falls into sleep’s waiting arms. Azriel grips his brother’s hand tightly, reminding him that, even if the nightmares come tonight, he will wake up with his brothers—safe from any and all harm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this just self-indulgent fluff between the Illyrian bros? Why, yes. Yes, it is. Like, they need to rest now, there's been so much death and destruction lately.   
> Az's story with the tattoos and stuff was actually very fun to write about and I think I'll add further on it.  
> Curious about what Az is searching for? Yeah, me too.  
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed!


	20. The Shadows Who Sing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so very randomly Microsoft Word decided to delete random letters in words??? So "his" can turn into "hi". I know that it's word bc in an earlier chapter I KNOW I wrote "twins" but when I went back and reread the chapter yesterday it read "tins"...If you find anything like that please tell me!  
> Anyways, All my in-depth studies at school are done so hopefully I can focus more on writing this now!

Azriel has an ache in his shoulder.

That’s about the only thing he can register, right now. Cass had insisted on joining a planning meeting, even if his injury was acting up. Azriel is standing silently at his side, aware that his stance is overly protective. He can’t help it. Not with High Lords and Illyrian Lords circling them. The fact that Nesta is there doesn’t make it better.

They need her to track the Cauldron, he knows—It’s surprising that she actually bothers to try. She’s unusually decent, too. Maybe they actually had some influence on her; managed to alter her mindset in one way or another. They’re debating back and forth—trivial issues that won’t really matter when it comes down to the bare bones of survival.

It was just around a few minutes ago that Cass’s shoulder started to hurt. Azriel had thrown him a concerned glance, but Cass had waved him off. Azriel had sent some shadows to him, to make the chair more comfortable and to work out the ache in his shoulder. It won’t go away, though, and Cass keeps shifting every other minute.

Azriel slowly moves closer and places his hand on his shoulder, kneading at the tightened skin. Cass doesn’t make a sound, but he shifts ever so slightly to give Azriel better access. The shadows fleet over his wrist with many thanks, before returning to their task. Azriel sees Rhys’s attention go slightly to the movements and, with a reassuring nod from Azriel, decides not to move. It would probably have annoyed Cass.

The tent grows silent when Nesta closes her eyes and reaches for the Cauldron. As if the Cauldron itself could hear them here. He sends the shadows forwards to trace after Nesta’s reach, setting up a kind of safety net for her. Even if he dislikes her, he can acknowledge that they need her to survive.

At the same time, Azriel slips away. His body is still physically there, but his mind—soul—fleets down into the shadow. The hand on Cass’s shoulder is more there to support his body weight now, his mind not able to perform the task.

He almost loses his thoughts when he blends into the multiple voices and whispers of his shadows. They scatter around the tent’s shadows, drowning in nonsense and pain. It’s difficult to keep his mind collected and focused, but he eventually manages to gather himself. The shadows whisper comforts when he does. _It’s been long since you last did this_ , they mutter, _you just need to get used to it again_. They tug him along, dragging him through the various shadows scattered around Prythian.

When they finally reach the ocean, they have to follow the seafloor, shying away from the few strands of sunlight that actually slip through. He slows when he feels the shield, miles ahead of him. They have strong defences, Azriel has to give them that. He starts to gently prod at them, learning their nature and origin. They’re ancient; these wards. Made to protect entire armadas and enormous beasts.

But Azriel is not an armada—neither a giant beast. He’s a shadow clinging to the mud and sand on the ocean floor, covered by the darkness of the deep. It’s almost claustrophobic—this darkness. Too much like the darkness in his cell; the darkness in his brothers’ eyes. Feels pressing and tight. His own shadows whip around, keeping as much to themselves as they can. They remember why they were created, too. who caused them to appear in Azriel’s waiting palms. They remember the suffering they received and took for him.  

_I endured, and when I fell tired my shadows endured for me. Our pain is equal._

The words circle his left bicep—the second one to be inked. The tattooist had snorted when Azriel had told him what he wanted and had suggested a standard Illyrian proverb instead. Azriel hadn’t yielded. Eventually, the man had to give up and did the work, grumbling about arrogant Illyrian boys. There had been no mockery from Cass and Rhys at it; Cass even went as far as to admire it, while Rhys whined to his mother about getting a second tattoo as well.

The words had been scrawled over and over again, covering entire pages in that ancient book. The essay they covered theorized that Shadowsingers refused to take pain and let their shadows take the brunt of every problem. That Shadowsingers were privileged and had no right to this almighty power. The woman who’d written them had been named Lilith Qva-Sith, and she’d been a famed Shadowsinger. Nursery rhymes had even been written about her and her powers. That was before she disappeared, of course, without a trace—as was the case for most Shadowsingers.

Azriel had found her words too true to leave them unacknowledged.

Here, down on the ocean floor, he finds strength in them. He and his shadows had endured those years in that cell, and they would endure this.

He spends time down there, feeling out the wards, before letting the shadows pull him back to where they found their clues. They end up in the shadows of some trees. Azriel nearly pulls away when he feels where they are. There, far in front of and under him, is Under the Mountain. He’s on the highest peak of a neighbouring mountain. _Why have you brought me here?,_ he asks the shadows, turning his attention to anything but that blasted place.

 _Feel, Azriel_ , they tell him _, can’t you hear them?_

Azriel falls still, relaxing against his shadows. Slowly, he lets them melt slightly in with the shadows already residing here. What hits him is a whirlwind of whispers and screams. Remnants of a Shadowsinger’s shadows. Maybe multiple of them. It’s strange, considering that there is no other known Shadowsinger in Prythian. If Hybern has a Shadowsinger, too…

 _No_ , his shadows urgently say, _no, listen_. He tries. The voices are all muddled together, something akin to despair plaguing them. He’s never heard shadows in quite this kind of panic. They’re not acting out in accordance with their own habits; not violent or thirsting for blood…This is something else.

They flood him with memories.

A dark house, standing right where these trees now grow, faint light shining through the windows. A woman stands on the porch, wrist encircled with shadows. It hits Azriel harder than it should. Another Shadowsinger. She looks powerful—with sharp features and a rigid posture, her dark hair drawn back in a tight bun. A girl is standing in front of her, mimicking her movements; learning, Azriel realizes.

And this house…It’s filled with Shadowsingers. Young and old alike. Learning and teaching. Intertwining their shadows with each other. Flourishing; _alive_. Their shadows rest like a shield around the house, every single one of them having a specific task. They’re working in perfect harmony. What happened to them? _Slaughter_ , the shadows hiss, _murder_.

Azriel is about to question them when a sharp stab of fear rushes through him. In a moment, he’s halfway back in his body, already reaching. The shadows give him the picture in a few seconds. Feyre is helping Nesta withdraw, and the Cauldron is chasing them down. he can feel its presence. A looming, ancient being above them—ready to strike.

Azriel throws his shadows out, slowing the massive wave of destruction and imprisonment the Cauldron is sending after the sisters. The Cauldron breaks—not shatters, thank the Mother—through them easily, but it is too late. Nesta doubles over the table, while Feyre slumps against Lucien. They look quite out of it. Azriel, himself, is only partially here yet.

The rest of him is still on that hill, with the house. He’s losing concentration, though, and when Cass reaches up to grasp his hand, the hill slips from his mind. He leans down, sliding down to sit on the armrest of Cass’s chair, and buries his head in Cass’s neck. Cass gives a small sound of surprise but is quick to sneak an arm around Azriel’s waist. “Something wrong?” he mutters in Azriel’s ear, lips brushing against the skin.

Azriel shivers at the contact. He moves, letting his lips trail from the corner of Cass’s mouth to his ear. “When you’ve recovered,” he mutters, low enough that nobody nosey will hear, “I’ll ride you until you’ve spent yourself dry”

Cass sputters, skin growing flushed, his grip growing tighter. He gives Azriel a burning glare, but a smile is also tugging at his lips. He forces Azriel down in his lap, with much protest, and lets him rest there for the rest of the meeting. Azriel takes a mental note of Hybern’s camps and promises himself to go there next morning. _Just scouting_ , he’s forced to swear to the shadows, _no enemy engagement_.

When everyone starts filing out of the room, Cass tries to lift Azriel with him, but Azriel just slaps his hands away with a glare and rises. Cass shrugs and doesn’t protest when Azriel has to help him stand up. He leans heavily on the Shadowsinger when they exit the tent, letting him take most of the weight.

Some of the Illyrian Lords nod at them when they pass by, and Azriel can’t help the satisfaction at finally being, at least partially, respected among them. His shadow displays had won them over and will hopefully hold them for a while. He honestly can’t handle any more of their insults and disrespect. These last five hundred years, he’s struggled to keep himself from ripping them apart and now he can actually be relaxed around them.

Cass grunts and sighs through their walk, sometimes grimacing. Nik comes up to them at some point and requests orders. Azriel gives him some short pointers to where to search for Hybern forces. “And, Nik,” he adds, as if an afterthought, “Send Lorelai and Fenn up into the mountains by Under the Mountain, I want them to go through every clearing there is and see if they find any sign of civilization.”

Nik’s eyes narrow, but he follows the orders without question. Cass is staring at him. “Where were you under the meeting?” he asks quietly, “What did you see?”

Azriel shakes his head. “I’ll tell you when we get back to the tent,” he answers.

When they arrive, he helps Cass down onto the cot. Cass groans as he lays back, all tension leaving his body. Azriel gets him a cup of water and then starts feeding Cass pieces of what he found in those mountains. “Strange,” Cass comments as Azriel starts unwrapping his bandages, “I’ve never heard of such a house”

“Neither have I, s’why I sent them up there. has to be a reason the shadows showed it to me”

The bandages come off easily, leaving the crusted blood on Cass’s skin without pulling at it.

“Could this be a trap set by Hybern?”

Azriel starts cleaning away the excess crust.

“Doubt it, the shadows seemed real; authentic”

He puts a press over the worst part of the wound before he starts rewrapping.

“So, we have another problem on our hands, then”

“Basically”

Cass groans. Azriel chuckles and leans down to give him a peck on the forehead before standing up, walking over to Daeva’s basket and picking the little menace up. Daeva starts squirming, looking for a comfortable position. “Have you been lonely, Little One?” he asks while laying Daeva in a baby hold. “Of course you have been”

Daeva meows, pawing at his chest. Azriel leans down and presses multiple quick kisses to his nose. Daeva had grown a lot the last few weeks, now large enough to make his way down from high chairs without toppling over or crashing hard. Azriel starts pacing, cooing at the cat.

Cass is watching them fondly, eyes brimming with love.

“You’d make a great father,” he says, quiet and warm—a meaningful tone underlying it all.

The world stops for a moment and then starts again.

Azriel freezes up, breath stuttering.

He’d never considered children. He’d concluded, when he was old enough to understand how to make children, that he never would have them. He’d been convinced that the abuse his father and brothers had subjected him to had destroyed him; that he would be unable to provide properly for his child—that he would be as cruel as his brothers.

Not that anyone would ever consider him to have a child with anyways.

He’d held the belief through his entire life, never letting go of it. He could never afford to think of it—to consider it—because the chances of him getting a child were so slim, so far out of reach. But now…

He turns to look at the male lying in the cot. Cass’s smile has fallen, but the warmth still lingers on his face. His stare is intense now, searching Azriel’s face for any kind of emotion. “There are orphans, especially after all of Hybern’s attacks,” he mutters.

“You—You want it?” Azriel breathes, heart beating frantically, “You want to raise a…a _child_ with me?”

Cass swallows, hands gripping the sheets tightly. Azriel slowly stumbles forward, falling to his knees. Daeva squeaks and twists out of his grip, jumping down to curl up on Cass’s stomach. “I want it, love,” Cass says, “Maybe not right now, but…Eventually, I want us to take someone in, raise them as our own. I’d love to see you with a little one. Our own little one”

Azriel sighs shakily, a tear streaming down his cheek. Cass reaches forward to brush it away. “Would you want that, love?” Cass asks, taking Azriel’s face between his hands. They’re shaking. “ _Yes_ ,” Azriel proclaims, laughing through his tears, “Of course”

Cass breathes out and tugs Azriel closer, pressing their lips together. Azriel grips the front of Cass’s leathers, clinging onto him. His entire worldview has tilted. Cass wants to raise a child with him… _By the Mother, Cass wants to raise a child with him_. He hadn't ever thought that Cass would wish for a child or a family.

Cass smiles into the kiss, breaking it in the process. Azriel leans their foreheads together, sniffling slightly. Cass’s hands run from his cheeks, down to his sides and up again. Azriel feels like they’ve moved another small distance again. Another milestone in their relationship.

Azriel’s happiness suddenly turns to dread and plain _wrongness_. The shadows are quick to hide close to him, but they’re quickly out again. they run rampant, coiling and whipping around. _Hurts_ , they gasp, _it hurts_. And it does. An ancient, disgusting presence breaks into existence, not having been there mere moments ago. And it’s singing to him—to his shadows. To _them_.

_You took something from me; you took it._

He doubles over, head landing in Cass’s lap. “What’s wrong?” Cass asks, a hand running through his hair. Azriel is up from the bed in a moment. Cass follows his lead.

Azriel rushes out of the tent, trying to keep the shadows calm. Feyre and Nesta are there, too, staring southwards. “What _is_ that?” he asks, resisting the urge to vomit right there. He already knows. The Cauldron. Cass is behind him, a hand on the low of his back. Azriel starts shaking, body overwhelmed. They stand there and stare until it is over—that dreadful singing. It falls quiet; retreats.

What was that?

What did it want?

Azriel turns to Cass, eyes flickering. Cass tugs him close and tucks him close against his chest. Slowly, the shaking disappears, and the shadows relax again, falling into the ground shadows. They lash out, reaching through the camp to find any and all things amiss. Azriel tugs away from Cass and turns to stare.

As Rhys comes running, eyes wild.

As Feyre turns to him, worried.

As Helion’s terrifying roar sounds over the camp.

 _You took something from me_.

So now it took back.

He’s gone.

Rhys’s voice breaks as he says it.

Lucien’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, wow, that was a lot.  
> Cazriel is basically that one PDA couple that everybody hates. The Shadowsinger mystery will keep being there and will take a central focus, I think. The entire "raising a child" thing came out of nowhere last night but I don't at all regret it tbh. And poor Lucien can never catch a break, can he?  
> Honestly, I am pretty excited to write the next chapter, I think it's gonna be lots of fun!  
> Leave a review if u enjoyed this chapter!


	21. Murder on Our Tongues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY WOW! This is a long chapter, jeeeeesus!  
> Okay, so I hate the fact that I constantly say "Next week I'll be free from schoolwork, os I can focus more on this fanfic" bc every goddamn week we get this new test or text to write or presentation and it is really annoying and exhausting. It's like the teachers don't know that we actually have other courses and free-time.  
> Ugh.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter

Mor has to drag both Feyre and Rhys along with her as they walk. Both of them are silent and distant, trying to process what had just happened. A few minutes was all it took. A few minutes, and the Cauldron had taken one of their family. All they’d found was his green cloak at the edge of the camp. What was worse was the Hybern-styled dagger laying over it. As a promise. Hybern had him now and would do whatever they wanted to him.

Azriel, himself, is shaking with anger; The only thing that keeps him from flying straight to the Hybern camps and ripping them apart is Cass’s hand gripping his. If he’d just had his shadows out. If only he’d cared enough to keep watch over them. Caught up in his investigation and _Cass_ , he’d neglected it. _Shit_.

Helion is deadly calm when they arrive in his tent, eyes blazing with cold fires. Lady Autumn—or Day, now that Azriel thinks of it—is being held by a dark-skinned female, a damp handkerchief pressed up to her cheek. Rhys goes straight for Helion, a hand outstretched. Helion grabs it and squeezes it strongly. “Why him?” Lady Day breathes, “Why would the Cauldron take _him_?”

Azriel feels a flash of sympathy for her. She’d gotten away from Beron, reconnected with her loved one and gotten her son back—and now that son had been ripped away from her. the female holding her rubs her back and clicks her tongue. “It’ll be fine, Katya,” she mutters, “We will not let my grandson die, I swear it”

So Helion’s mother, then.

“You won’t, will you?” she asks, staring at Rhys. Azriel understands why the previous High Lord of Day had taken her as his wife. “Of course,” Rhys answers without hesitation, Feyre nodding behind him. Katya dabs the handkerchief below her eyes and pulls away from her mother-in-law, seeking comfort in Helion.

“I’ll go after them,” Helion says, “They can’t have gotten far”

“No,” Azriel says before any of them takes time to consider it. Helion growls in his direction and Cass steps in front of him, tensing. The shadows come out of where they hid, observing and ready to protect. “They know what they did when they took Lucien,” Azriel explains, pushing past Cass, “They _know_ that you would want to go after him. If someone’s to go after him, it has to be someone they don’t expect.”

Helion stares at him, considering. Azriel is prepared to argue more. No one is as protective and stubborn as a parent with a child in danger; especially if that child is an heir. “I’m getting him back,” Azriel says, ignoring the way Cass whips around to stare at him.

“It’s dangerous, Az,” Rhys says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not as dangerous as it would be for all of you,” Azriel answers, leaning back on a mock structure the shadows have conjured up. Rhys swallows, cocking his head to the side. “They won’t be expecting Azriel,” he finally says, the words forced.

Helion sighs, rubbing at his temple. “He’s my _son_ ,” he says, his voice—in rare vulnerability—breaking. Katya reaches up and brushes back his hair, sniffling.  “I’ll get him back,” Azriel restates, even more insistent now. Not just for Helion, Rhys and Feyre. He’d made a promise years ago, inked into his skin now, to always protect this small, made family. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t get Lucien out of Hybern’s clutches.

“I’ll go with him,” Mor adds, “It’s better with two of us; more they won’t suspect”

Rhys sighs again, rubbing his palms together. It’s hard for him, letting them out of his grip so soon after Cass’s injury. They’ve always gotten hurt when he lets them go, he’s always been so close to losing them. But he knows that he can’t control them and dictate their actions, so he nods. Mor smiles and walks over to Azriel to link their arms together.

“Go find him,” Katya tells him, “And don’t come back before you have”

Cass opens his mouth, as if to protest to the remark, but Azriel grabs his hand and tugs him away before he can. Cass throws him an annoyed stare, but Azriel kisses his cheek and keeps his hold tight. “We’ll come back,” Azriel promises him. Cass smiles and squeezes his hand. Mor tugs at him, inclining her head. “If we’re to catch up with them,” she says, “We need to leave now”

Feyre steps forward and gives each of them a tight hug. “Get him home, Shadowsinger,” Rhys says from behind her. Not as a request from a friend, but as an order from a High Lord to his Commander. Azriel nods curtly. Katya loosens a long sigh, gripping onto Helion’s arm tightly. “We’ll be waiting for you,” the High Lord of Day says, and the message is clear. The shadows echo it in his mind.

_Come back with him, or don’t come back at all._

-:-

They winnow into a small cluster of trees, just on the southern part of the Spring Court. By what Azriel has calculated, Lucien can’t have gotten any further than this. He’d only had a few hours in advantage. His scent had blown faint and hadn’t led them far. Another work of the Cauldron. Mor has concluded that if nothing has happened they’ll find him, even if it’ll take them a few hours. If Lucien wanders into the arms of Hybern, though, their chances become close to none.

Azriel starts sending out blasts through his shadows, searching for Lucien’s familiar presence, while Mor does the same with her flares of power. They don’t dare move much, not knowing what defences are up in the Spring Court. In a few minutes, they will winnow again, searching there too. The air is warm here but not a pleasant heat, as in the Summer Court. There is no ocean air here, just heavy and stifling scents of roses and grass.

“Cass has come more around to the idea of you out in the field, then,” Mor starts as they stand there in the darkness, not at all subtle. “I guess he has,” Azriel answers, “Maybe he realizes that I can save his ass as much as he can save mine”

Mor snorts, blonde hair fluttering around her face. “You seem happier now…more at peace,” she continues and Azriel can now clearly see what she’s trying to do. The way she is steering the conversation in. _She’s trying, Azriel_ , the shadows tell him, _let her try_. Azriel keeps himself from sighing.

“I’m sorry, you know,” she says silently, “For not being clear with you…” “You don’t have to apologize for that,” Azriel quickly says, not reacting to the wounded look she sends him, “You had full right to be, you didn’t owe me anything.”

Mor blinks and audibly swallows. “But, yes, you have hurt me, in your own way,” Azriel says quickly, before he can lose his nerve. He knows that Mor has a tendency to try and place blame on herself, to appease others, so he needs to tread carefully. “You never needed to _remind_ me that I wasn’t worth you, Mor,” Azriel says, the words just slipping out now, “I know that that wasn’t what you intended to do with your… _actions_. But that was what you did, and it hurt me more than doing its purpose. I would have accepted it if you actually spoke to me about it.”

Mor is staring at him, mouth moving without sound. Tears are gleaming in her eyes. “And I would wait until you’re comfortable enough to tell me yourself,” he ploughs on before she can speak and break his confidence, “but _I know_ , Mor and…when you’re ready to say it aloud, you will and until then, just know that I don’t mind; and never will”

Mor breathes out heavily, a heavy tremor running through her body. She bumps her head against his shoulder. _She tells us to thank you_ , the shadows whisper, _and to say that she appreciates it_. Azriel smiles, taking her hand in his.

His shadows return—with excellent results.

He squeezes Mor’s hand once in warning and winnows, closer to the forest. They appear in the shadow of a tree, pressed close by the large roots. With Azriel’s shadows they’re invisible at every angle but one. “Down in the clearing—ten minutes to the left,” he whispers in Mor’s ear. He lets go of her hand and she starts making her way into the forest, light in her footing. Azriel, himself, melts into his shadows.

It’s a long, strange process, where it feels like his bones are being twisted apart and his skin is slipping off his flesh. More times than not he stops the change halfway, due to how it scrambles his mind. To evaporate his physical form and turn into the shadows he created, it takes away his ability to form and hold thoughts, to think and _care_. It’s only for a few seconds, but it still terrifies him.

It’s a change he normally never uses, due to the side effects. The first time he’d been able to do it was when he’d wanted to hide from his half-brothers. When they had come for him that time, he’d been able to hear their intentions, through the shadows, and discovered that their intentions that day had been especially cruel. His mind hadn’t even moved before he’d dissolved into shadows and darkness.

It was a kind of panic room for him, where he retreated when he couldn’t handle his emotions in an unharmful way. It was also useful for situations like this. Down in the cell under his father’s house, he’d never thought of moving to other shadows around, he’d just tried to hide. When he finally got out of there, he realized their full potential. He’d trained for months, just to be able to dissolve without losing himself to the darkness.

Now he moves from shadow to shadow, following Mor while also keeping an eye on Lucien’s location. Even the shadows are limited in their view of him and he can just get vague pictures and emotions from them. The faint scent of blood that hangs in the air doesn’t help. He reaches out to tug at Mor’s wrist a few times, steering her back on the right course.

A gust of wind pushes through the trees behind them and Azriel envelops Mor in his shadows to keep her scent from spreading. Mor stays still until he pulls them back and then resumes creeping forward again. They move slowly, no sounds and no sudden movements. They don’t know what Hybern might have planted here.

Azriel moves ahead of Mor, jumping from shadow to shadow to shadow. Sometimes the foreign shadows welcome him and sometimes he has to fight to stay. His own shadows are slithering over the forest floor, never too far away from Mor. They create a steady rhythm, moving smoothly and as quick as possible.

Suddenly, a high-pitched shriek echoes through the forest, breaking their concentration. Sobs of pain follow. A scent of blood fills Azriel’s nostrils and he shoves his shadows in the direction of the scream. The difference comes to him a second later. It’s mortal blood. What in the world is a mortal doing on this side of the Wall?

Mor glances around herself, unsure. Azriel slips into her shadow and lets a smooth tendril run up to her shoulder. _A mortal girl_ , he tells her, _only a few metres away from Lucien._ Mor growls low in her throat, disgust rolling off her in waves. “Do we have the capacity to bring her?” she asks silently, so silently that only the shadows hear it. _Doubtful_ , Azriel answers, _but damn us if we don’t try_.

Mor nods in agreement and sets off in the direction of the scent. It takes them two minutes, and then they see the faint light of a bonfire. Mor drops down and presses herself to the ground, crawling her way forward. Azriel uses the shadows to stifle the rustling sounds she makes. Azriel fleets beneath the roots, coming to a rest at the edge of the clearing. Heavy wards and traps have been laid there; not normal ones, but ones fit to trap a spell-cleaver.

They had been smart not to send Helion.

Through the haze and mist of his shadows, Azriel catches glimpses of the fae present. Three of them are off to the side, standing over a twitching figure sprawled on the forest floor. It doesn’t take any time for Azriel to determine that this is the mortal girl. The two remaining fae males are by the fire, on either side of Lucien. Azriel has to keep his shadows from attacking when he sees the Day Heir.

His hands are bound behind his back with iron chains coated with faebane; the chains are fastened through the ground, probably with spells of their own. His wrists are red with open sores, probably put there by the Hybern fae to get the faebane working faster. His shirt is ripped open down the middle, bloody gashes covering his chest, and a bloody cloth is stuffed between his split and bloodied lips. His eyes are dazed—the faebane doing its work. They’ve taken every precaution necessary.

Normally, Azriel would retreat and spend a few hours planning at this point. But he doesn’t have hours. There’s no doubt that this Hybern outpost would’ve notified the King, and if they don’t get to Lucien before the King gets here…

Mor has reached them now, Azriel’s shadows laying over her like a coat. She glances briefly at where Azriel is hiding and then inches out her hand, feeling against the wards. Reworking wards is a tricky process; time-consuming. At least to a normal fae. It would’ve just taken a few seconds for Helion but if he had attempted, he likely would’ve been trapped by them. Azriel hopes that Mor can get through quickly enough.

One of the men at Lucien’s side abruptly stands up, but his eyes don’t go to where Mor is hidden. He turns to stare at Lucien. “D’ya reckon he’s valuable?” he asks the other fae, trailing a finger down the column of Lucien’s neck. Lucien jerks back, a sound of protest muffled through the gag.

“Of course he is,” one of the men by the mortal girl answers, “That’s the bloody son of the High Lord of Day, and to top it off he’s warming Rhysand’s bed. I’ll crawl down to hell myself if they don’t come searching for him”

“But the King wouldn’t mind if we…roughened him up a little, would he?” the male throws back, eyes trained on Lucien’s exposed skin. Lucien flinches, curling in on himself. And Azriel has had enough. Mor has too, it seems, because the wards abruptly break, their power caving in on itself. The male with his hand on Lucien barely has time to turn around before Mor has reached him, blade flashing. His head topples to the ground, spraying both Mor and Lucien with blood.

The males shout in alarm as Mor moves to the closest one. He ducks away when she slashes at him, barely avoiding her strike. One of the males by the mortal starts to charge at her, but in seconds Azriel is there, a smile upon his lips. The male shrieks as Azriel tears his chest open with Truthteller, for so to grab the back of the fae’s head and send his body sprawling. The two others roar, one of them charging, but Azriel has already aimed and thrown.

Truthteller pierces through the male’s throat, spilling streams of blood down his body. Azriel leaps forward and yanks the dagger out, just in time to block a blow from the third male. The male sneers at him, pulling back and preparing for a second strike. But it’ll never come. Azriel snaps his fingers and the shadows are wrapped around the male’s ankles. They start tugging at him.

While the male sinks, screaming, down into his own shadow, Azriel slowly walks towards the small shape behind him. The girl is small, probably only a few inches taller than Amren, her mousy brown hair spilled on the ground behind her. the poor thing is trying to sit up, but she’s shaking so bad that it’s futile. Her clothes are hanging off her in tatters, baring her body. Azriel instantly wishes he made the males suffer more.

He orders the shadows to find some material of any kind and then proceeds to kneel before the girl. She jerks back when she catches sight of him, hands coming up to cover her breasts. “Hi,” Azriel says quietly, using the shadows to make his voice smoother—comforting, “Don’t worry, they’re gone now. They won’t hurt you anymore”

The girl doesn’t answer, staring at him. The shadows return with a pale fabric and Azriel grabs it from them and slowly, very slowly, holds it out to the girl. The girl eyes it for a moment before she reaches out and snatches it from his grasp. Azriel holds her stare as she wraps the sheet around herself. When she’s managed, he slowly stands up and offers her a hand. She hesitantly grabs onto it.

When Azriel turns the last male is already dead—no surprise there. Mor is at Lucien’s side, trying to unfasten the chains. Lucien is coughing roughly, the gag thrown away somewhere. “It’s not working,” she complains, “There’s a ward of some sort on them”

Lucien’s breathing is ragged and raspy, sweat running down his face. They need to get the faebane off him soon, or he won’t make it. “Lucien,” Azriel says, miraculously catching the male’s attention, “You need to break the wards with your own powers, we’re not skilled enough to do it”

 “I don’t know how,” Lucien sobs, chest heaving. He’s nearing the edge of panic, Azriel can see, frantic and desperate. The faebane must be affecting him in more ways than just weakening his powers. “You have to try,” Azriel says, in the same voice he used on the mortal girl.

Lucien takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. It’s not like that slows his breathing, but at least it’s not as frantic as before. “Delve down, just as you’ve always done with the flames,” Azriel continues, not willing to admit even to himself that he’s just bullshitting, “Bend it to your will; take control”

Lucien takes another breath and sets his jaw, tensing. “Okay,” he says. Faint light starts gleaming from his skin, forming intricate patterns on his skin. With a start, Azriel realizes that the patterns are imitating Rhys’s tattoos, curling over Lucien’s shoulders, forming the pact they swore to each other. Azriel doesn’t know if it’s intentional or not. If they can get back without dying, maybe they’ll let Lucien take the tattoos as well.

Small cracks of light start appearing in the chains, accompanied by Lucien’s mouth starting to move, muttering something Azriel can’t hear. He doesn’t really want to hear either, from the way Lucien’s face tightens in pain. Sweat starts beading on his forehead, his cheeks flushing. It’s not a particularly good sign.

The mortal girl gasps and presses herself close to Azriel’s side, eyes wide and trained on Lucien’s magic. “What’s your name?” Azriel asks her, more to distract her than anything else. “Briar,” she answers, voice rough and hoarse—probably from screaming. Azriel’s entire body fills with rage at the thought of what they’ve done to her.

“It’s taking too long,” Mor says, a hand on Lucien’s back, “the King will already be close by”

Lucien’s eyes flicker to her, the light beneath his skin dimming. He shrugs and shakes his head. There’s no way to speed up the process. Mor sighs, rubbing at his back. Lucien resumes to this task, a bit messier this time around. “We don’t have time,” Azriel says after a few moments with barely any activity, “You take Briar and winnow out, I’ll stay with him”

“No, I can’t lose another one, Azriel”

“Rhys’ll understand”

“And Helion?”

“I suggest going to Rhys first, then”

Mor huffs, lips drawn back in a sneer. Azriel knows that he’s asking a lot from her, more than he can expect. He sends her a pleading look, trying to make her understand that it’ll be safer for the two girls like this. They stare at one another for what feels like hours, but Mor eventually gives in. She stands up and reaches out a hand to Briar with a comforting smile. Briar immediately goes to her.

Mor gives him one last look before winnowing. _Don’t fail me on this_.

Azriel turns back to Lucien, whose eyebrows are knitted together in concentration. He sends some of his shadows for support, probing at the wards and their weak spots, but it’s Lucien who has to do most of the work. “My father can do this without even blinking,” Lucien sneers, tugging at the chains with no result.

“Helion’s had these powers for eons,” Azriel comments, “you only discovered them recently”

Lucien grunts, attention going back to the chains. Azriel can see the wards slowly submitting to Lucien’s powers, blinking away like a sea of stars. The shadows have started grumbling, annoyed. _These wards are really annoying, we should’ve broken through them by now,_ they hiss, _this is discrimination._ Azriel rolls his eyes and sends them back to their task.

A clang sounds from the chains as Lucien breaks the ward in two. “Great,” Azriel says before realizing what this really means. “On the other hand…I think you just made it more difficult for yourself”

“Yes, I _realize_ that,” Lucien snaps, trying to work quicker now.

Then the winds shifts and a heavy scent hits Azriel. “Shit,” he utters. The King is on his way, with a little group of unidentifiable monsters. “Time’s up, Lucie,” he mutters, “We have to leave _now_ ”

“If you haven’t noticed,” Lucien says, eyes flying open, “I am _stuck to the ground_ ”

 _How fast can you break the curse from the ground?_ , Azriel asks his shadows, hand wrapping around Lucien’s bicep. _Fairly quickly_ , they answer and instantly start throwing themselves against the ward, splintering it bit by bit.

Azriel gets ready to winnow, but then a blast of magic runs through the forest. Suddenly, Azriel’s abilities to winnow lay dormant. He inwardly curses. Isn’t this just what they need? “We can’t winnow,” he tells Lucien, who blinks a few times before sighing heavily.

“So now the King of Hybern is coming for us?”

“Yes”

“And we can’t winnow?”

“No”

“And I probably won’t get free before he arrives?”

“Probably not”

“Fucking bring it”

Azriel lets Lucien and the shadows work and takes up a protective stance between them and the oncoming scent, his Illyrian sword in one hand and Truthteller in the other. _Nearly done now_ , the shadows whisper. “We’ll have to fly,” Azriel tells Lucien, swallowing. Lucien just sighs again. Maybe Azriel will finally have someone to be exasperated at life with now…if they make it out alive.

A growl sounds from far before him and he tenses his body, ready. The first beast comes charging, sharp teeth gleaming. Azriel curses, twisting to his left, his sword following the movement. He catches the beast in the neck, so much force in his swing that it steers the beast to the side, as well.

Lucien has started muttering again, frantically. A stronger glow is now coming from him, but it sadly has no effect on the beast.

Azriel slashes at the beast again and succeeds in warding it off. It limps backwards, delirious with blood loss. It will probably die in a few minutes.

Growls and howls echo around them. More of them will come. And probably quickly. Azriel glances over at Lucien, checking on the chains. Lucien’s glow is steadily making its way over them, quicker by the second. It still won’t be quick enough.

 _We’re done!,_ the shadows shout at him. “Lucien!” he yells, “Get ready!”

Lucien’s eyes snap open, and the looks annoyed before he hears the sounds around them. He’s up from the ground quickly, stumbling a bit with the shifting weight. His magic is still working the chains, albeit a bit slower.

Azriel hears a snarl from behind him, far too close for his liking.

He throws himself forward, running towards Lucien. He starts flapping his wings, readying to take off. Lucien seems to get the general message, because he puts his hands low and steps backwards through them, and then raises his hands over his head.

Azriel barrels into him, hands going around his waist. Lucien lays his bound hands around Azriel’s neck and pulls his legs up. Azriel gains more and more speed; they’ll be off the ground soon.

“Don’t leave so quickly, we’re just getting started” a cold voice calls from behind them—it takes no genius to figure out that the King has arrived.

One more flap of Azriel’s wings and they’re off the ground. The shadows come up under his wings, making sure they don’t fall an inch and pulls him further up. Strong gusts of wind fleet through the trees, helping him gain altitude. He almost believes they can make it out alive.

Then a beast leaps up and grapples onto his backside. Azriel cries out as its claws rip through the thin membrane of his wings. Blood starts flowing down his back and, for a moment, he can’t even feel his wings through his back, only feels their underside from the shadows. Alarm flashes down the mating bond, followed by concern. Azriel tries to send something back, but the pain is far too great.

The beast raises its claw, and Azriel prepares to make the shadows take Lucien far, far away. His survival means more than anything. _I love_ you, he sends down the mating bond, _I love you, I love you, I love you._ He doesn’t let Cass respond. Then Lucien reaches out his hands and, with a cry, makes the beast collapse in on itself in kindled dust.

Relief rushes through Azriel as the beast’s claws disappear from his wings. His veins and nerves are still a mangled mess, but at least the claws are gone. Lucien clings closer to him, exhausted.

For a few terrifying minutes, Azriel hangs in the air over the forest, listening for the King and his packs. When nothing comes after them, or follows on the forest floor, Azriel breathes out and runs his hand through Lucien’s hair.

And, as dawn breaks, they soar into the sky, leaving Hybern and death behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So not so much focus on Cazriel here, but the next chapter will make up for it (With Azriel injured and all). So Lucien also need to heal poor bby, Hybern fae are gross and disgusting. We also couldn't have left Briar out, bc that would've been offensive.  
> If you enjoyed the chapter, please leave a comment!


	22. The Call to War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my birthday was yesterday, so consider this a belated birthday present from me to you guys!  
> Honestly, the chapters are coming out slower now bc I need to focus on schoolwork. (I got a 2 on my last social economy test)  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Mor had graciously waited for them at the northern edge of the Spring Court.

When Azriel lands, he lands hard—Lucien jolting against his chest. His wings had started giving out a few moments before, his damaged flesh screaming. He tries to flap his wings a few times, to test, and finds that they slump down on his sides, limp. He draws in a breath, a headache beating at his temple.

If the entire nervous system has been damaged to such a degree…They need a healer, _fast_. Azriel can only remember a few instances where his wings have fallen useless, none of them pleasant. And even then, he’d never lost absolutely all feeling in them. There had always been a way to move or shake them.

The way they slump and drag, it reminds him too much of his time in that cell—and the weeks that followed when he got out. The pure hopelessness of his wings being torn, wrong and useless.

Lucien untangles himself from Azriel, staggering away on unsteady legs. Azriel doubles over and throws up. His shadows curl up around his cheeks, and then line themselves around his wings and hold them up like they actually function. It helps with not stretching the wounds wider and also putting a damper on Azriel’s rising panic. Lucien comes forward, offering a hand for Azriel to clutch at.

He can hear Mor move around them and Briar’s whimper at the sight of the mess on his back. Mor chokes, no doubt remembering what happened to Cass in Hybern. She grabs onto Lucien’s shoulder, connecting all four of them, and winnows. She’s using up most of her remaining powers, Azriel can tell, but he won’t protest—knows he would do the exact same thing if Mor was the one hurt.

The winnowing turns his stomach and brings vomit up to his throat again, but he refuses to throw up. He’ll at least wait until they’ve landed safely in the camps. Even then he has to wait; can’t seem weak in front of the Illyrian soldiers.

They land surprisingly soft on the ground, just on the outskirts of the camp. Azriel doesn’t know if she can scent the fae or if it’s just the eerie atmosphere, but Briar starts trembling, fingers gripping Mor. Just then an Illyrian exits a tent, his eyes going wide at the sight of them. Then he calls out to send a healer to the Shadowsinger’s tent, and quickly.

Mor lays a hand around Azriel’s waist and starts dragging him forward, trying to get him to his tent before he collapses completely. Soon enough they’re surrounded by the rustle of Illyrians and Darkbringers alike, soldiers shying out of the way from their little group.

Through the haze of the shadows clamouring and clinging to him, Azriel can see the crowd parting for another. Soon enough, Helion is standing in front of them, already reaching for Lucien. The High Lord throws a glance at the chains and turns them to dust in a flash of light. He tugs Lucien close, cradling the male to his chest. “Thank you,” he says to Azriel, who can only give a simple nod in reply.

Mor smiles grimly to Helion before nudging Azriel to continue on with their journey. The shadows inform Azriel that Helion is taking Lucien to his own tent, Katya waiting for them there. “Just a bit further,” Mor mutters, throwing glares at the males who dare look at Briar the wrong way.

The scents around them change and Azriel perks up, causing his back to scream in pain. He cries out and slumps forward again—Cass is barely able to catch him in time. He shouts orders at the soldiers around them, ordering one to go fetch Thesan. Air rushes in Azriel’s ears as Cass picks him up in a sitting carry, hands going under the back of his thighs. He almost falls forward and catches himself on Cass’s shoulder, bending his head to nuzzle into Cass’s neck.

Anuie comes rushing for Mor, hardly noticing the terrified mortal girl pressed to her side. He must’ve arrived some time after they left. He keeps his distance, probably unsure of what to do, but asks questions to ensure she’s okay. He throws a glance at Azriel but decides that he’s in safe hands now that Cass has got him.

“I can’t believe _you_ told me to be more careful,” Cass growls, nails digging into his thigh. Azriel only laughs, sounding like he’s completely losing it. Cass starts walking, growling at the Illyrians who don’t get out of the way fast enough. Rhys follows behind them and reaches out to brush hair out of Azriel’s eyes. “How much does it hurt?” he murmurs. Azriel grins at him, the unbelievable pain derailing his thoughts. “Okay, he’s smiling,” Rhys calls to Cass, “It’s _bad_ ”

Cass chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. Azriel makes a small noise of annoyance, the movement of Cass against him jolting him too much; making it uncomfortable. Cass stops laughing abruptly. “We’re nearly in your tent, love, Thesan is waiting there for us,” he murmurs against Azriel’s hair, hands tightening around him.

_Nearly there_ , the shadows copy, sending cool tendrils over his scorching skin. They’re tired too, from holding his wings for so long.

Azriel glances up from Rhys’s face, catching glimpses of the Illyrian soldiers behind him. His hand tightens in Cass’s cotton shirt and his shadows tense, livid. In the cluster of people watching them leave, he sees them. They’re standing there with smirks upon their faces, delighted at this display. Even after all these years, Yean and Amedio unsettle him. He knows they can’t harm him, _he knows_ , but they still tear at his fears and worries.

Material brushes against Azriel’s wings as Cass takes him into his tent and Yean and Amedio’s faces fall out of view. He shivers. Thesan rises from a chair, dressed in a simple white shirt, and his hands already giving unvoiced directions. “Lay him on his stomach and _step back_ ,” he says, and Cass obeys. Azriel tries to catch himself on his hands, but they give out beneath him. Thesan lays a hand on his back, fingers barely brushing his skin.

“I need to feel out the damage,” he says, but hesitates. He’s probably used to fae with sensitive wings and even more sensitive feelings around them. “Go ahead,” Azriel grits out, making the shadows fall away from his wings. Thesan sighs and places his hand over the torn membrane. Azriel jerks as pain flares up his spine. Cass growls, wings rustling. The shadows show Azriel Rhys placing a hand on Cass’s chest, muttering to him.

Thesan grows still, his fingers moving over the torn skin. “You can’t feel them, can you?” he asks. Cass and Rhys both stop talking, eyes wide. Azriel slowly shakes his head, holding his breath. Rhys gasps and Cass turns away, face in his hands. “Fix it,” Rhys says, no room for argument.

Thesan is silent for a while, moving the wings around slightly and shifting the skin around the wounds. He stares for a while, considering, before nodding once. He cracks his knuckles and leans over Azriel’s back. “I’ll keep the wounds open and focus on restoring the nervous system,” he states, “It’ll be long and painful so if you want anything to ease it…”

Azriel reaches a hand out. “Cass; Rhys,” he says. Both of them come forward quickly. Rhys grabs his hand and squeezes it tightly. Cass crawls onto the bed and makes himself comfortable against the headboard, taking Azriel’s head in his lap. He starts carding his fingers through Azriel’s hair.

Thesan takes a deep breath and starts. At first, Azriel doesn’t feel anything. But then the nerves start reconnecting, and a terrible pain overtakes his entire body. It scorches through his veins and muscles, throbbing. Azriel grits his teeth together, swallowing a scream, and grips Rhys’s hand tightly. Cass starts rubbing at his nape, thumbs stroking back and forth over his cheeks. They stay like this for five minutes.

“Don’t waste your time trying to stay silent,” Thesan informs, fingers feeling where he just healed. He probes and picks at the healed flesh, securing no damage had been done, and then continues on healing. “Good job having the shadows hold the wounds stable,” he comments, “Nothing here is torn beyond repair”

The next time Thesan starts, Azriel lets himself scream. After a few hours, his voice is too raw to even make a sound. Rhys keeps holding his hand, and Cass keeps comforting him. At one point, Eosai comes in with a pitcher of water, holding a small cup of it to Thesan’s lips as he works.

A few more hours go by, and Azriel is finally too exhausted to keep himself conscious. He lets the shadows take over.

 

-:-

 

Azriel wakes to Cass’s fingers in his hair. Seven hours have gone by, the shadows inform him with softness. They’re exhausted too, having taken his pain so he could rest through most of it. Azriel lets them cling close to him, sending his gratitude through his mind. The shadows caress his cheeks in answer.

“You’re awake,” Cass says when he sees Azriel blink his eyes open. Azriel groans and shifts slightly, feeling out his wings. He breathes out, relieved, when he can actually feel their movement. “Thesan did a great job,” Cass comments, reaching over to run his fingers down the scarred ridges.

Azriel shivers. The skin and membrane are a lot more sensitive now, being newly healed and formed. “What’s happened?” he asks, his voice rough. Cass sighs and leans back, tugging Azriel further up against his body so he lays between Cass’s splayed legs. “Rhys wants you to stand back during the battle,” he says.

“Absolutely not”

“Azriel…”

“I will not stand by and watch while you are risking your lives”

Cass gives him a rough stare, gripping him tightly. It says enough. _I will not lose you_. Azriel opens his mouth, and then closes it again, no words coming to his mind. He makes up for it by burying his face in Cass’s neck. “I love you,” he mouths at Cass’s skin, hand coming up to rest on his chest. Cass smiles, hands stroking over Azriel’s sides. “Love you too, Az,” he mutters, “and promise me that you’ll stay safe during the battle. I won’t be able to sleep if you don’t”

Azriel sighs but does as requested. Cass had just said _safe_ ; nothing about staying out of the battle. He then snuggles closer to the other male, seeping into his warmth. 

Cass starts rubbing circles into his hips, soothing. Azriel shifts slightly; pushes his hips against Cass’s. Cass rumbles with laughter beneath him. “Been a while since we could properly do this, eh?” he says.

Azriel nods, letting out a breath. He angles his hips, pressing them down with more intent this time. Cass groans against his temple, fingers tightening on his hipbones. A certain hardness starts to swell against Azriel’s own one, and Azriel groans over Cass’s collarbone.

Azriel presses down hard and starts rolling his hips, like a wave upon a shore. His hands slip down on either side of Cass to support his weight. Even when his back protests with a few flashes of pain, Azriel welcomes the feeling. Embraces it and lets it become part of his pleasure.

He thrusts harder and harder, eyes fluttering shut. Normally, he would’ve liked to pull their cocks out, tug at them skin to skin, but now the friction of leather and cotton is enough. Azriel licks a stripe up Cass’s neck, and then bites and nips at it.

Cass groans loudly, throwing his head back. One of his hands starts to travel up Azriel’s back, the other one staying at his hip. The fingers fleet over his skin softly, barely touching. Too late, Azriel realizes what Cass intends to do. He straight up mewls when Cass’s fingertips rub against the base of his wings.

His back arches, subsequently pushing their hips even closer. His body moves smoothly against Cass, fitting into every dip and raise. Cass’s fingers slowly move up, trailing at the newly made scars. Azriel utters a broken moan, hands fisting the sheets. The pleasure is unbelievable, sparking up his spine and down in his stomach. It overwhelms everything else, including the faint pain of moving in such a manner.

Cass’s hips start to stutter, throwing Azriel off-rhythm. “Think you can make me come like this?” Cass asks roughly, one leg coming up to tangle with Azriel’s. Azriel only grunts in response, hips moving desperately now. With a few more thrusts, Cass chokes out a gasp and comes. He curls his hand inward, fingernails scraping against the membrane of Azriel’s wing.

Apparently, they’ve turned far too tender under Thesan’s ministration, because he comes immediately. His body shakes in aftershock for a while, his body high on pleasure. He finally slumps over Cass, beads of sweat running down his back. Cass drops his hand from Azriel’s wing, tangling it in Azriel’s hair instead.

And as Cass leans back and hums, Azriel’s thoughts start to wander. There will be a battle—a brutal one. It will be terrible and cost many of their lives. They don’t know the might of Hybern. What they can make the Cauldron do. Azriel knows he should rest, but he can’t. They’ll probably lose the battle. His family will die. He cannot allow that.

He lets himself melt into the shadows. An alarmed cry comes from Cass at the unfamiliar feeling of Azriel slipping away.

 

First, he follows those small tendrils of shadow he left by the island. A soft cry answers him. He barely appears on the shore, his shadowed form spilling out among the stones and sand. A young girl’s eyes are upon him. He presses his shadows against her; lets her know everything. She bows before running as fast as she can. To warn her rulers. Azriel hopes they make it in time.

Then he sinks. Down, down, below the earth of Prythian. Searing through bygone roots and dead blossoms. He goes further down than he’s ever dared before, down where ancient caverns and forgotten grottos rest. A place of escape—where they’d hid so long ago to never be found again. He lets his shadows explore, find their kin. It’s not a certainty that they will help; that they will even understand him. But as foreign minds and thoughts reach out to him and start whispering, asking, a small hope lights in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really just making up shit about Thesan's healing and the way the wings healed, but oh well.  
> Another goddamn sex scene because Az and Cass cannot keep it in their pants.  
> So the next chapter will focus on the war idk how much space it will take in the story tbh, but I can promise that I've changed a lot of plot points of things happening during the battle and how it unfolds and stuff.   
> So, yeah, if you enjoyed the chapter, please leave a comment!


	23. When the Shadows Answer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually quite fun to write.   
> Tbh, I've always felt like Sarah exaggerates the enemy numbers in battles, like, there's no way Hybern had so many forces (an overwhelming amount at that), and that's that. So I've decided to mash up a little of the plot around that. Hope you enjoy!

Edel Audegaarn had always been the runt of the family.

The youngest of six siblings, she’d always been three feet behind. Weaker than her siblings; less accomplished than them all. Her legs were weaker than theirs; some days she couldn’t even stand on them. On those days her father would sigh and look out the window, cursing the gods for not providing him with a useful daughter.

As she couldn’t really do any heavy work, Edel spent most of her days inside with her mother, sowing and singing.

Whenever her siblings would come inside, she’d step to the side as much as she could, not wanting to be an annoyance. Not that they did that much anyways. They were always off, doing something useful, while Edel was sitting with her needles and pins.

She was more of a shadow than anything else.

At this moment, though, Edel is stumbling down the slippery path from her family’s cottage to the small barn by the hill, an empty bucket clutched between her hands. Night has fallen, and a cold, ruthless wind is tugging at her thin and ragged dress. Normally, Edel never would’ve left the house. Normally, the job of milking Dagros was done by Lotta, with the rosy cheeks.

But Lotta had fallen sick, lying beneath the covers of the bed that actually belonged to Edel. And Anikken, with her blue ribbons, didn’t want to go out in this weather, so when none of the boys came home early from the mill, they decided that Edel simply had to go milk Dagros. Edel hadn’t really had a say, as Anikken was the eldest present; their parents down at the market in the main town. The road back from there is long, as they live at the very outskirts of the acres of the town. It still shouldn’t take them this long to get back, though.

Edel slips in the wet mud, staggering. The bucket nearly falls out of her slippery hands. Lotte never slipped, that she knows. So she can’t go running back to the cottage, crying about some mud.

After a long struggle, she finally makes her way into the barn. She’s never been here before, so she fumbles a bit before she can light the lantern. A light flashes outside, lightning, no doubt. She needs to be quick. But when she turns to where Dagros should’ve stood, what she sees makes her scream.

A small woman is standing there, her dark skin glowing in the light from the lantern. Dark folds of skirts are brushing against her ankles, the bodice tight around her small waist. The dress looks like it cost more than their entire farm. Her face is sharp and emotionless; her hands folded over her stomach. Her dark eyes are trained on Edel’s small, shivering form.

Edel retreats against the wall, back hitting the rotted wood with a thump. “Who are you?” she tries to ask, but it comes out as a whisper, barely noticeable. The woman smiles. “That’s not important now, Edel,” she says, voice hard as steel. Her hair falls back to reveal her pointed ears. Fae.

Edel throws herself to the door, stumbling through it. She can barely see outside, rain coming down heavy. She starts to run, but her bare feet are bruised and screaming. She stumbles and falls her way through the mud, trying to get back to the safe, little cottage. But when she comes closer she notices that the lights in the cottage have gone out.

The woman’s cold hand clamps around Edel’s wrist and she screams again, the sound deafened by thunder. “It’s all right,” the woman says, slowly turning Edel towards herself, “It won’t hurt a bit”

Edel thinks of her parents, who probably have stayed overnight in the town due to the weather. Who have to come home to this. To her gone. Her mind goes to Lotta with the rosy cheeks and Anikken with her blue ribbons. What might have happened to them. She hopes her brothers stay at the mill tonight.

The woman tightens her grip on Edel’s wrist.

Edel whimpers, and then everything goes dark.

 

-:-

 

Cass comes into Azriel’s tent, stumbling over his own feet. His eyes are drooping, and his wings are close to brushing against the ground. He dives straight into Azriel’s arms, toppling them both over. Azriel groans slightly as he hits the mattress, sinking into the soft material.

They’d spent the entire night winnowing back and forth between the mortal lands and Adriata, bringing mortals to safety. They’d even sent Illyrians flying, sparing a few hours on it.

Azriel still disagrees with the plan, placing himself in Kallias’s corner. To just take away Hybern’s target won’t discourage them. He knows that they won’t spare anyone just because one village has been evacuated. They’ll just go to the closest village and kill them instead. Still, Feyre had wished this of them. And, as her Shadowsinger, he obeyed.

With that knowledge, he’d noticed that he couldn’t accept their deaths. Even if they were complete strangers, he cared. He’d also considered what kind of message it would send to Hybern. It would just tell them that they were stronger; that whatever the Prythian forces did, they would always be one step ahead.

It had annoyed him; not being able to help. Being useless wasn’t something he was used to, especially in these kind of situations. This has also probably upped their chances of catastrophically losing the battle tomorrow. With their powers trained to such an extent can be fatal, when everything comes down to the bare essentials. Azriel is mainly just exasperated because no one will listen and consider what might happen tomorrow.   

To top it all off, Cass and Rhys both had insisted he’d go to rest earlier than all the others. He’d been stubborn earlier and refused to go on bedrest; Set on helping instead. It had left both Rhys and Cass snarling. When they had a few hours of winnowing left, Rhys had instructed him to stand down and go back to the camp. When Azriel had protested Rhys had changed it to an order, so Azriel had no choice but to winnow back to the camp.

He’d sat in silence for an hour or two before finally getting up and leaving. He’d gone back to the shadows he’d left in the deep sea, searching for any kind of answer or acknowledgement. He’d returned with pleasing results. Thesan arrived around then, stumbling over his own feet and blinking sleepily. He’d had to be supported by some of his soldiers back to his tent.

Azriel had gone back to his tent soon after, not wanting to run into anyone unpleasant wandering around the camp. He’d changed into more comfortable clothing and started stretching, as his wings now required, and that was around the moment where Cass had arrived.

Azriel snuggles into Cass’s embrace, uttering some pleased sighs. Cass is close to the point of passing out, he can tell. So he tugs him closer and repositions them, more comfortable that way. “Cass,” he starts, brushing his fingers through the other male’s hair, “Whatever happens tomorrow…”

“We’ll be okay,” Cass interrupts, nosing at Azriel’s neck, “Even if I die tomorrow, you know that I love you and I know that you love me. That’s all I really need; I can die happy”

Azriel swallows, tears welling in his eyes. “It always ends that way with us,” he mutters, allowing the shadows to run freely over his skin, “Whenever we go out into war with something to lose, tragedy strikes”

Cass shifts, moving himself up to eye-level with Azriel. His hand comes up to rest upon Azriel’s cheek. He looks at Azriel with softness, eyes following the details of his face. He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Azriel’s mouth. Azriel’s eyes flutter close, causing the swelling tears to finally spill.

“I’m going to fight tomorrow,” he informs Cass, whose smile instantly drops, “There’s no way I’m letting you and Rhys out there alone. I don’t care if you think I should stay back and let you take it all. You, of all people, should understand that, Cass.”

“I do, but good luck convincing Rhys of that,” Cass answers, and Azriel can hear that he’s still reluctant—protective instincts kicking in. Azriel leans forward, rubbing their noses together. He also starts humming—that calming melody that Rhys’s mother often sang to them. Cass smiles softly, trailing his hands along Azriel’s sides.

If Azriel can distract him enough to not think about it, there will be no protest or overreaction until the battle is raging. He hates using such a tactic on Cass because he knows he only means the best for him, but he can’t bear the thought of leaving Cass alone to die. Azriel breathes out, tears dry now.

Cass closes his eyes, eyelashes brushing against Azriel’s cheeks. Azriel clasps their hands together between their bodies. Cass’s grip is strong around his, sure and calm. Soon enough, Cass is asleep, his usually sharp features softened. Azriel could stare at him like this for hours.  

Azriel stays awake for far too long, watching over Cass. _You need sleep for tomorrow_ , the shadows whisper. Azriel nods but keeps his eyes open. Cass narrows his eyebrows in his sleep, letting out a small noise of protest. Azriel immediately shifts, allowing Cass to cuddle close to his chest. The sounds quickly disappear and Cass sighs against Azriel’s skin, his hair tickling his collarbone.

With that, Azriel is finally exhausted enough to fall asleep.

 

-:-

 

“They’re gone!”

Azriel wakes to the cry of the soldiers bustling around, sharing the news they overheard from their High Lords. They sound excited—happy, even. The news spread quickly, apparently, because within minutes the air is filled with murmurs and wonders. Azriel’s shadows allow the whispers to force through the tent material and reach his ears.

All the mortals have disappeared. When the High Lords went to do a safety inspection, they’d found every single village empty. Doors were ajar and kindling still ablaze in the fireplaces. There were frightened animals and cold food. But wherever they went, there was no sign of life. There had been no message left there, either. No indication of what Hybern had done.

Azriel contemplates the information he receives. One less obstacle to overcome, then. No mortals to be in their way of battle. He rolls over and out of the bed, stretching. The joints in his wings pop, and Azriel has to flap them a few times to erase the uncomfortable feeling.

He sends the shadows in a rushing wind to open the entrance to the tent, letting sunlight pour in. Cass groans from his spot on the bed. Azriel turns to look. Cass has turned over on his stomach, arms folded under his head. He’s squinting at the rising sun, his wings spread out over him. “It’s too damn early for this,” he groans.

“Good morning to you too, darling,” Azriel answers, amused. Cass growls playfully before grabbing a pillow and shoving it in his face. Azriel snorts, sending a shadow over to tickle his nose. Cass grunts and waves the shadows away. He rolls over onto his side and pushes himself up slightly, blinking his eyes slowly. He swings his feet down on the ground and stays there, shifting the soles of his feet.

Azriel can’t help himself. He walks over and kicks Cass’s legs apart, placing himself between them. He runs his fingers over Cass’s scalp which earns a satisfied hum. Cass noses at his stomach, hand coming up to rest on Azriel’s hips. Azriel smiles and then laughs, shocked, as Cass licks a stripe up his abs. He tugs Cass up, shoving him lightly.

Cass smiles softly, while Azriel turns to the bundle of clothes he’d left by the bed. He starts to tug off the leathers from yesterday, cursing. He’s never sleeping in Illyrian leathers ever again. his shirt is off quickly, and he starts to unlace his pants. Cass growls slightly behind him, and the shadows tell him that Cass is glancing at the open entrance. Azriel chuckles, turning to the other male. “You will never stop being overprotective, will you?” he teases.

Cass rolls his eyes and walks the short distance over to Azriel, tugging him closer by the hips. “You love it,” he mutters, placing a kiss on Azriel’s nose. He then backs away and picks up Azriel’s spare shirt. “Hands up,” he commands. Azriel laughs but obeys. Cass ties them tightly, as Azriel always likes to have them, but he leaves the bottom loose over his thighs. As Cass turns to find his pants, Azriel unlaces the wrinkled pair he’s already wearing and tugs them off.

“I think I can put on the pants by myself,” he comments and snatches the pants from Cass’s hands. Cass looks at him for a moment before he starts tugging at his own leathers.

“What was the deal with the mortals?” Cass asks. Azriel fills him in, cautious. Cass wrinkles his nose when he finishes. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he says. Azriel shrugs, finally lacing up the bottom part of his shirt.

“When has Hybern ever really made sense?”

 

-:-

 

The wind is almost still, sending a light breeze over their backs. It’ll be good for the Illyrians—taking a massive burden away. The sloping ground will also give them a bonus, get the Illyrians to the skies easier.

Azriel is tugging at the buckles around his waist, tightening them more. His backup daggers are fastened there, because if everything comes down to it, they may mean his survival. Nik is standing next to him, looking unbelievably small in the leathers. He’d told Bjorn, Myrah and Wrigh to hold to the front, applying their strength where needed. He’s decided to keep Nik and Lorelai in the back, working more overview and strategy. Fenn is already stationed near Hybern’s awaiting army, ready for sneak attacks.

Rhys comes up next to him, starting on the buckle near his shoulder. “Still haven’t changed your mind?” he asks, yanking roughly on the strap. Azriel shakes his head, tensing his thighs so he doesn’t fall over from Rhys’s ministrations. “You have to let us act like adults, Rhysie,” he says, but it doesn’t seem like Rhys wants to listen to him. Azriel sighs and sets his eyes on the hills.

One by one, their entire family arrives. First Mor, in her blood-red uniform, then Amren in her child-sized Illyrian leathers. Feyre and Cass walk to them together, bumping shoulders and laughing. Lucien comes trailing behind Helion, the High Lord’s watchful attention on him constantly. It takes him a couple of minutes to convince Helion to let him leave, but then he’s in their little circle.

Lucien goes straight to Rhys and Feyre, muttering to them in a steady voice. He leans in when he speaks, naturally drawn to the two of them. Amren sees what’s about to happen and turns to Mor with a sarcastic smile. Well, then. Azriel grabs Cass by the arm and draws him a small distance away from the rest. He puts his hand on his hip and draws it out. “Here,” he tells Cass as he hands him Truth-teller, “I want you to have it”

Cass’s breath stutters and his hands raise half-way before freezing. “Az, I c-can’t—” he says, his eyebrows draw tightly together, “Love, I can’t take this.”

Azriel rolls his eyes and grabs one of the outstretched hands, wrapping Cass’s hand around the hilt. “I want you safe, Cass,” he mutters, “And this is the only thing I can surely protect you with”

Cass smiles, and then licks his lips, before tightening his grip on the dagger and dropping his hand down to his side again. Azriel pecks him on the lips and turns to find Mor and Amren gawking at the two of them. Azriel arches an eyebrow and cocks his head to the side with a teasing grin, silently asking them _what?_

Mor smiles back at him, while Amren shakes her head. Cass and Azriel return to their little group, closing of the broken circle yet again. Rhys beams in their direction, obviously happy at the exchange. Cass grabs his hand and holds it tightly while Rhys starts talking.

He addresses them one by one, speaking of their own victories and their effects on his life. Azriel’s heart swells with each word Rhys speaks, filling him with love and sadness. He squeezes Cass’s hand tightly and takes a deep breath, trying to quench the tears. When Rhys speaks to him, he only inclines his head, knowing that Rhys will understand.

When Rhys finishes, he reaches out his hand to Feyre, who takes it and takes Amren’s hand in her other one. Amren follows up by grabbing onto Mor’s, who takes Azriel’s in turn, giving it a small squeeze. Cass reaches out and then, finally, Lucien grabs Rhys’s hand, completing their circle.

Azriel closes his eyes and tries to make this moment last. Possibly the last moment they’ll have together. When Rhys is finished speaking, Azriel sniffles and opens them. Rhys is shifting his gaze between them, so incredibly loving and supportive. “I need to tell you all something,” Mor breathes, “This may be the last time I’m allowed to be truthful with you all”

She holds Azriel’s hand in an iron grip, almost cutting off the circulation. Azriel tries to give her a reassuring smile. “I’ve known for a long while now that…if I were to settle with someone romantically, it would have to be a female. I—I can find satisfaction with a male, but I can never feel the way for him as I will for a female”

She speaks quickly, as if the words will escape her if she doesn’t get them out fast enough. her eyes are close to falling shut multiple times, but she strides through it with her gaze steady on Rhys. When she’s finished she breathes out, eyeing them all. None of them give anything but supportive smiles and nods. Mor smiles back, her grip on Azriel’s hand loosening.

Cass goes into the air with a kiss to Azriel’s cheek. That tiring longing returns down in Azriel’s stomach. Cass will be out there on the front lines, with a large chance of dying, and he will be _here_ —feet planted on the ground. He turns to Rhys, between Lucien and Feyre.

 “I can fight on foot,” he says, gritting his teeth.

“No,” Rhys sneers, no room for argumentation in his voice. Azriel fists his hands but keeps quiet. He’ll let Rhys have his way, for now.

The shields go up, and then they start blasting at one another. Azriel watches, sweat beading on his forehead. He hates this part—some sort of power play, to tire out the enemy, but mostly to show off. Anuie comes up on their position, his Darkbringer legions behind him. He kisses the top of Mor’s head before asking Rhys for directions.

At Rhys’s command, the Darkbringers are brought to the frontlines, their darkness powering up the already existing shields. Anuie stays behind with them along with his commander—a tall, ebony-skinned male with distinct scars on his left cheek. The male has his hand lingering near Anuie’s, eyes going to him every now and then.

Hybern is about to break through the wards, their powers and shields too calculated and prepared. Feyre leans over to whisper something to Rhys, and the battlefield in front of them explodes in mist and darkness. A sharp spark of fear races down the mating bond, as Cass catches sight of Bryaxis, shrouded in dark mist. Azriel tries to respond with comfort but finds it hard to be anything but shocked at the sight of the creature.

And next to him…There stands an Illyrian warrior—or at least what looks like an Illyrian warrior—grinning savagely. The power that radiates from him, the way the very air stills around him, can only mean one thing. The Bone Carver. Feyre has worked wonders.

And between them—the terrifying form of the Weaver, a silver crown upon her head. Rhys is grinning where he stands, eyes glinting. These are the two menaces he’s chosen to serve. His terrifying, wonderous rulers.

Hybern’s wards fall, shocked faces staring at the ancient monsters in front of them.

Still grinning, Rhys raises his hand and snaps his fingers. Suddenly, the field where most of Hybern’s armies stood, with their weapons ready and teeth bared, is littered with black dust and emptiness. Some of their remains fleet in the winds, scattering over their allies. Cries of outrage sound from Hybern’s forces, but Rhys pays them no mind.

There are shouts from overhead as the Illyrians plunge themselves from the sky, following the arrows their archers sent seconds ago. Azriel sends a blast from his Siphons after them, feels his power surge through them and power them enough to break through the makeshift wards that come up.

The Weaver roars, shaking the ground beneath their feet, and throws herself into the hoards of Hybern fae. The Bone Carver laughs and follows her, Bryaxis bounding after them. The Hybern forces are slaughtered, lines breaking. Azriel sends a silent order to Fenn and a few seconds later, an officer with a deadly reputation cries out. She falls to the ground, Fenn’s sword sprouting from her chest.

The officers and Hybern’s deadliest are thrown into disarray, pointing and shouting and drawing their swords. The soldiers start glancing backwards, eyes wide and bodies hesitating. With one blow, Fenn had struck down their source of confidence.

It’s going well for them; almost too well. Azriel is about to turn to Rhys, warning him, but he stops with a gasp, shadows writhing around him. The battlefield grows silent, overwhelmed by a feeling of pure _power._ Nesta starts screaming next to him and a dread settles in his stomach.

No, no, no.

“CASSIAN!” He hears Nesta scream and he’s furious because _what right does she have to care about him now; after how she’s treated him?_ But he’s also terrified. He sends the shadows scattering and angles himself towards the sky, ready to take off. Nesta keeps screaming, falling to her knees.

Azriel can see Cass’s form turn, ready to descend, but he knows it won’t help. It won’t make a difference. Because an ancient power tears through the air—straight towards the Illyrian forces. _The Cauldron_. Cass is too far away to reach. He won’t make it. Warmth and love come streaming down the mating bond; Cass’s last action.

The Cauldron’s force reaches their front lines, ready to splinter and mist their warriors. Azriel can only stare, terrified. _Don’t fear_ , the shadows suddenly whisper, _we are here_. But not _Azriel’s_ shadows. These are the ancient shadows of Lilith Qva-Sith, their voices deeper and older than Azriel’s own shadows.

The Cauldron’s powers crash into a wall of darkness that has sprouted from the ground. The wall is a writhing monstrosity—made up of hundreds of different shadows. Some young and some ancient. Some of its power breaks through, and a few Illyrian soldiers evaporate. Azriel cannot hear the sound of the Bone Carver’s killing spree anymore. But it doesn’t matter. Because Cass is still alive, and now Hybern is staring at the front lines. Where a long line of Shadowsingers has appeared. Dressed for battle.

Azriel had realized early that he wasn’t willing to let more hoards of innocents die for this cause. He wasn’t prepared to sacrifice them. That’s why the winnowing of mortals wasn’t just a rescue mission for Azriel, it was a diversion. He’d set his plan in motion had just hoped it would work. The Shadowsingers had hesitated at first but then agreed. After they'd gotten everyone out of Feyre's village, Azriel had gone to those caves and begged the shadows residing there to go and save the innocent mortals. 

Right now, almost all the mortal population of Prythian resides in Adriata and Velaris. All thanks to these Shadowsingers.

There had been no promise of them to go into this battle, but they had. For what they believed was right.

The High Lords are gaping, their forces stunned. It seems even Hybern has lost some of its confidence at the sight of the Shadowsingers and their shadows. Rhys turns to Azriel, eyes wide. “How?” he breathes. Azriel grins, lifting his fist. “Just a bit of luck, is all,” he says.

A war cry rises from the line of Shadowsingers, enveloping Hybern in darkness as they attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was quite long!
> 
> Ofc we can't have a chapter without Cass and Az being adorable, Az also gave Cass Truth-teller bc wth Elain isn't here and also not useless so...  
> So the entire thing with the Shadowsingers is something I find very exciting and wonderful, like, it's mentioned that Shadowsingers are rare, but it's unbelievable to me that we meet no other shadowsinger than Azriel in the books.  
> Anyway, tell me what you feel about this chapter in a comment!


	24. Sacrifices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's easter break soon, YAAAAAY! I am very satisfied with this chapter actually, and I hope you can also enjoy it! I've switched around a lot of things, because it flows better with the story I want to tell, and I hope you enjoy it as well! Thanks for reading so far, Love you!

Hybern’s front lines are battered and broken, bruised beyond repair. They’re still holding their ground, supplied by years of preparation. Some of their generals are still alive, giving orders and trying to stabilize the forces.

Azriel knows they don’t have long before the king gets the Cauldron stabilized again—ready for another blow. What the Shadowsingers had done had been a miracle, one they could not repeat, so they’d have to shut down its power quickly.

Azriel starts tugging on his leathers. “I’m going in,” he says, not to anyone in particular. Most of the Shadowsingers are out of practice, as well. They won’t last as long as they’re needed to. “No,” Rhys snarls, his previous wonderous expression turning livid. “Chain me to a tree, Rhys,” Azriel says, “Go ahead. I’ll rip it out of the ground and fly with it on my damned back”

Rhys shakes his head and then gestures with his hand, directing Azriel towards the northern flank. Azriel nods curtly, stepping up to press a kiss to his cheek, before departing. Azriel can feel Rhys’s gaze burning into his back as he leaves.

The wind is strong close to the ground and almost knocks him off-balance, but he keeps steady. When he finally gets high enough, he barks orders to the closest ones. The lines fall proper in a matter of seconds, the Illyrians glancing at the shadows wreathing his skin.

They barrel down upon the Hybern lines, landing hard and quick. They’re not properly prepared for air attacks, especially from blood-thirsty Illyrians, so the first fae who meet them fall easily. Azriel gets caught up in the battle, spilling blood without care or trouble. At one point, the Hybern fae start falling faster, and warriors with different armours appear in their ranks.

Drakon and Miryam finally have responded to his request.

And they’ve brought reinforcements. The shadows show him Elain by the side of her father on the deck of a ship and a blazing firebird swooping down over the battlefield. An entire armada. Come to their rescue. Azriel grins as he watches Drakon’s forces descend upon the Hybern fae, swords drawn.

The firebird lands in a burst of flames, turning fae to ashen shells. The bird screeches and digs its claws into the closest male’s eyes. Azriel catches glimpses of Miryam and Drakon by Rhys’s side, talking intently. Feyre is gone, her and Amren running over the battlefield to find the Cauldron. Two Shadowsingers are following them, providing a safe way through.

Azriel’s heart flashes with hope. They’re holding strong, their lines steady. If they can hold long enough; if they’re fast enough so the Cauldron can’t get charged up again, they might just make it. Feyre and Amren disappear within the Hybern forces and Azriel can only hope they make it.

A fae aims for Azriel’s neck but falls with a gurgle, Lucien’s dagger protruding from her throat. Lucien follows after it, yanking it back out, throwing it over Azriel’s shoulder and into the face of a charging soldier. He grins at Azriel as he uses the fallen body as a springboard. “I knew they were there,” Azriel grumbles. Lucien snorts.

There’s a large explosion from behind them and the shadows screech. They plaster themselves to his skin and whisper, _Amren is doing something. We don’t know what_. _Well, find out then,_ Azriel growls in answer.

He sends a small spark up the mating bond and a few nerve-wracking seconds later, Cass sends one in response. He’s somewhere in the air to the left, fighting some Hybern beast with wings that make mockery of Illyrian ones. He seems safe, for now.

_Amren has made herself into some kind of ancient beast_ , the shadows sing, _Feyre is…disoriented_. Azriel curses. Leave it to Amren to pull something at a moment like this. He’s about to race towards the centre of the explosion, but a Hybern beast lands in front of him at the last moment. He throws himself to the side just as its massive claw pierces the ground where he stood.

_Get someone to Feyre now_ , he orders the shadows, launching himself into the air. He goes in an arc, landing on the beast’s neck and slashing through it. the beast screeches and arches, throwing Azriel to the side.

Azriel beats his wings as hard as possible and manages to create enough momentum to keep himself in the air. The beast snaps after him but he twists and dives, ducking between its powerful jaws and down its neck. He tears the Illyrian blade from his back as he does, ripping into its throat. He lands in a spray of dark blood, the beast toppling to the side.

The ground shifts beneath his feet and Azriel stumbles before falling to his knees, doubling over and throwing up. Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong. A presence, so old that it can only be the Cauldron, fleets over the battlefield. Some of his shadows start losing their hold on his skin, being ripped away from him. The ancient power is sucking, drawing in, magic.

Not just magic, Azriel realizes as he coughs, _everything_. A rift in their world. A gate to some power vacuum, a void of nothingness. It’s tearing into Prythian, breaking it down piece by piece. Azriel can see the numerous shields flickering before disappearing completely; the Shadowsingers cry out, scratching at their skin. After being wrapped in them for so long, Azriel can only imagine how uncomfortable it is to have their shadows torn away.

Azriel barely registers the Illyrian soldier landing heavily next to him, grabbing the back of his head and heaving him up. Azriel stumbles to his feet, vomit still dripping from his lip. The soldier beats him on the back a few times, stabilizing him. Azriel flinches away from the soldier, tipping his head in thanks and redirects his vision to where Feyre had disappeared. They need to stop this process, immediately.

An imposing figure is moving over the battlefield, towards where Azriel assumes the Cauldron is. The King. He’s wielding a blade, held lazily by his hip. He doesn’t even care about the enemies around him, too arrogant to notice their attempts on his life. He’s undoubtedly heading towards the Cauldron. The King turns quickly, catching Azriel’s eyes on him. He smirks and then looks up. Azriel follows his gaze and there…

Cass.

Headed straight for the King.

Dear Mother above.

Azriel launches himself into the sky, sending the small remains of his shadows after Cass. It bares his skin and removes that small, constant part of them from his mind, but he doesn’t care. _Stop him_ , he yells at them. He should’ve known that Cass would do something like this. That he would sacrifice himself to keep Feyre safe. Cass is already landing when Azriel is halfway to him.

The King meets him head-on, blade flashing. Cass angles himself, putting himself between the King and Feyre. He holds steady, but the King is a strong one. Every blow sends shivers down Azriel’s back, and he knows that Cass won’t last. No matter how good of a fighter he is. The King has years upon years of magic built up inside him.

Azriel beats his wings faster, trying to gain speed, but it’s futile. The air has stilled, won’t help him any further. Azriel growls, dipping lower. Rhys is suddenly there against his mind. _I’m sorry, but I can’t reach you, I can’t_ …

He sounds broken and scared, even if he’s tearing through hordes of fae without even breaking a sweat. _Get to Feyre_ , Azriel tells him, _I don’t know what’s happened over there_. He gets a sound of acknowledgement in reply, laced with worry. The battle is going well and even then, their little family is threatened and on the verge of disappearing.

Azriel cries out, wings faltering for a second, when a sharp pain erupts in his side. The King has reopened Cass’s stomach wound. It’s not as savage as before—not bad enough for Cass’s guts to spill out—but the blood starts dripping quickly. Azriel recovers swiftly, protectiveness overtaking pain. He has to get there

Eyes trained forward, he can see that Cass hasn’t even faltered for a second. Azriel’s shadows finally reach Cass and lay themselves over his wound. Because it isn’t Azriel they’re tending to the effect is almost non-existent, but at least it’s something. The King and Cass circle each other, Cass blocking the King’s every attempt at leaving.

The King swipes at Cass’s legs but he easily dodges, a twist followed by a strike at the King’s head. Azriel is nearly there now. Nearly there.

The world around them shifts again, groaning. Azriel is thrown to the ground by it, knees hitting the softened dirt hard. Before he went down he could see Cass falter as well, stumbling backwards. There’s a triumphant cry from their direction, and Azriel knows that the King has gained the upper hand.

Around himself Azriel can see more Illyrians being drawn to the ground, their wings faltering. The ones who fight and try to stay afloat turn to dust within seconds. So the air is unavailable to them now, then. Some of the soldiers who’ve landed are trying to get up again, straining their wings. Azriel wants to send them shadows, order them not to, but the only piece of shadows he has left are currently clinging to Cass. _Rhys!,_ he cries in his mind, _Rhys don’t let them go into the air_. He can only hope Rhys hears him.

He stumbles to his feet, cutting through some deformed creature from Hybern, and starts running. He pushes past a shouting soldier, tramples over a fallen beast, and shoves aside a charging soldier and there they are.

Cass has a weak stance, his body taut and rigid. The King is still standing tall. A few seconds of distraction and faltering, and Cass is already losing. Azriel throws himself forward, reaching for his blade. Just a few seconds now; just a few seconds.

Cass slips slightly in the trampled mud, falling to one knee. The King doesn’t raise his blade, and Azriel doesn’t understand before he shoves it into Cass’s shoulder, to hold him up, places his foot on Cass’s wing, a weak part of the wing, and _shoved his foot down_. Azriel and Cass’s scream mix together as the bone snaps.

Some outraged cries come from the Illyrians close by, appalled by what they consider the biggest crime possible. Azriel gasps, tripping over his own feet, as the King yanks the blade out without a care. Cass falls forward on his hands and knees, heaving. The King circles him slowly with a smirk on his face.

Azriel ignores the pain searing through his back and straightens himself up again. He resumes his running, he has to be quicker. He has to reach them. He has to save Cass. The mating bond roars, overtaking him. Everything that matters is Cass and having Cass safely in his arms.

As Azriel closes in, he can see multiple Illyrians charge at the King and turn to dust as they hit his invisible shield. He growls low in his throat and clutches his sword tightly. The King has rounded Cass, standing behind him now. He raises his sword and brings it down, cleaving halfway through the outer bone of Cass’s other wing before stopping. Cass cries out again, flinching away from the pain.

Rage overtakes Azriel’s body and he roars, turning himself to mist and darkness. He appears in the King’s own shadow, sword at the ready. He manages to place a small cut to the side of the King’s neck before he ducks away, eyes aware.

Azriel is immediately between Cass and the King, growling. Cass groans, landing a hand on Azriel’s thigh. Azriel shrugs it off. Better to be focused now. “Well, well,” the King sneers, “Looks like I couldn’t get rid of you scum last time. Trust me, though, this time I won’t let you live”

Azriel throws a dagger at him in answer. It nicks the King’s cheek as he ducks away, but Azriel notices that some of his arrogance is gone now. Good. Let him know that he’s not the only lethal creature here. Azriel leaps forward, lashing out with his sword. The King meets him halfway, power echoing from their meeting.

Azriel grunts as he turns, falling to one knee and letting his blade fall upon the King’s knee. The King roars and lets his sword continue down in an arch. Azriel throws himself forward, tackling the king to the ground before the sword can dig into him.

The King twists, though, and throws Azriel down in the dirt. Azriel lands hard on his back, spreading his wings as to not crush them. The King raises his sword above Azriel’s chest, ready to drive it down. Azriel catches the blade between his hands and can hear Cass whimper in pain at it. Azriel ignores the blood running from his palms and wrenches the blade to the left. The blade sinks into the ground next to Azriel’s head.

The King completely abandons it and swiftly draws a dagger from Azriel’s side. At the same time, Azriel does the same from his other side. When the King makes a strike at his neck, he parries. He shoves aside the King’s hand and grabs after it, holds it still, while he jabs his own dagger at the King’s throat. The King jerks backwards, drawing Azriel with him. “I will not be beaten by a baseborn runt,” he growls, breaking out of Azriel’s hold.

The King drops the dagger and grabs Azriel’s hair with one hand, the other one seizing the hand Azriel’s holding the dagger in. He yanks Azriel to the side, towards his abandoned blade. Azriel has no time to react before the blade starts digging into his neck. He cries out and jerks away, but the King’s hold on him is strong.

“You won’t be missed,” the King sneers, but before he can move Azriel any further, he sputters. He lets go of Azriel’s hair and raises it to his throat. A second before Truth-teller pierces through his neck, he coughs blood into Azriel’s face. “ _Do not touch my mate_ ,” Cass spits from behind the King, dragging the dagger to half-way decapitate him. Azriel shoves the King’s descending corpse to the side, landing it unceremoniously on the dirt.

Azriel breathes heavily, body trembling. Cass falls to his knees, doubles over and vomits. Azriel is instantly up, hands going out to clutch at the male. He brushes Cass’s damp hair away from his forehead, making small noises of comfort. Now that the adrenaline is going down, a throb starts going through Azriel’s back and wings.

Azriel’s gaze goes to Cass’s wings and his breath hitches at the sight.

One of them is bent unnaturally, the bone jutting out. A tear is running down from the break, blood running from it. The other one isn’t as bad, a small cut through the bone, but it still brings great pain.

Now that the King’s shields are gone, Illyrian soldiers are rushing forward. One of them tries to rest their hand on Cass’s back but Azriel’s growl makes him hesitate. They start murmuring about a healer and one of them runs off to find one; they still can’t fly.

_Rhys_ , the shadows cry at him, _There’s something wrong with Rhys_. Azriel’s mind is nearly too mangled to hear it. _What?,_ he snaps at them, fingers brushing through Cass’s soft strands. He reaches out through them and meets a feeling of something _wrong_.

Rhys’s soul, his presence and mind, is fading. As if he’s dying; as if the Cauldron is taking him. Azriel freezes up, mind racing. Cass’s hand comes up to clutch his, and he grips it tight. This can’t be happening.

_You can’t do this!,_ Azriel throws out in his mind, knowing that Rhys is listening in. _I love you_ , comes the reply and Azriel can’t help but sob, _Please tell Cass that I love him, too, he won’t open his mind._ An outraged cry comes from somewhere on the battlefield. Mor receiving the same message, no doubt. Cass narrows his eyes, gaze unfocused. “What?” he grinds out, “Love, _what’s wrong?_ ”

But Azriel can’t answer him. All he can think of is that fading presence. Rhys is almost gone; dead, and then Nesta barrels into him, breathless. “Get me there,” she says, fingers digging into his shoulder, “I need to repay a debt”

Azriel opens his mouth and then closes it again, eyes trained on Cass. Cass seems to have caught on what’s happening, his expression being one of anger. “Do it,” Cass tells him, already withdrawing his body, “Go save him”

Azriel scrambles after Cass, frantic. His instincts are screaming over each other. One telling him to protect his wounded mate, the other one telling him to go save his High Lord, another one telling him to get up and fight. Cass is _hurt_ , his wings broken again and Azriel needs to be there for him. “I can’t leave you—I can’t…”

“We’ll watch over him,” one of the soldiers interrupts, placing a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, “ _Go_ ”

He knows the Illyrians will be true to their word. With his mind going in every single direction, Azriel finally lets go of Cass and instead grabs onto Nesta, whose eyes are wide. _Bring us to them_ , he orders to the shadows. They’re tired, he can tell, but they follow his order nonetheless.

In a few seconds, he and Nesta are engulfed in shadows. The travel along the ground takes longer than normal, the shadows struggling to properly use themselves. They almost lose their grip on him a few times but manage to bring them forth properly. They land hard on the ground and Azriel goes up on his knees to see Feyre with her hand on the Cauldron, Rhys behind her.

The shadows show him Rhys’s life disappearing, feeding into the Cauldron. Azriel lets out a choked cry, reaching forward, while Nesta scrambles to her feet. Rhys’s eyes fly open to catch sight of Nesta and Azriel there, and a sad smile slips onto his lips. A last goodbye. Azriel won’t accept it.

Nesta struggles forward, the Cauldron sucking up her physical energy. Rhys narrows his eyes as she closes in, wary. When she reaches them, Nesta lays her hand over Rhys and Feyre’s intertwined ones and, slowly, starts tugging Rhys’s away. Rhys’s eyes widen, his breath stuttering, but he doesn’t protest. It doesn’t even seem like Feyre notices.

Rhys withdraws hesitantly, letting Nesta hold around Feyre instead. He comes to kneel next to Azriel and lays a hand around his shoulder. Azriel leans into the touch, finally letting himself rest. Rhys breathes out heavily.

Ever so slowly, he feels Nesta’s life ebb out, as a light winking away. The Cauldron seems to accept her sacrifice better than Rhys’s. it’s because they are the same, Azriel realizes, she’s giving back the life she stole from the Cauldron.

A loud, groaning sound comes from the Cauldron as the yawning rift starts to close. Azriel feels the other dimension claw at theirs, desperate to gain more and drag more of _them_ through. Nesta groans, knees shaking. And then the rift closes up with a silent rumble followed by a loud screech.

Azriel feels the shadows return to his skin, soothing. _We’re already on our way to Cassian-dearest_ , they comfort Azriel. Azriel begs the Mother to keep Cass safe. “He’ll be fine,” Rhys says, as if he’d read Azriel’s thoughts. Maybe he had. “He’ll be there when we get back”

Azriel takes a deep breath and tries to believe him.

Now that the rift is finally closed, the air returns around Azriel. Pressure disappears and leaves room to think. Cries raise up as the Illyrians finally can take to the skies again and shields flicker up again. The price for these crumbles in front of them.

Nesta’s body slumps against Feyre’s completely lifeless at this point. Feyre grunts and falls away from the Cauldron, landing hard. She blinks dozily and Azriel can tell by Rhys’s expression that she’s completely drained. Then her eyes find Nesta’s limp form next to her. She reaches out a hand and then withdraws it.

Rhys stumbles forward and when his arms go around her, she opens her mouth and lets out a shrill scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Cass's wings they don't deserve to suffer this way.  
> I had Az and Cass kill the King instead bc that just fit better emotionally with the story, Nesta sacrificing herself was also a way to kinda develop her character without it being some useless flash of love ONCE and then her going back to being a heartless bitch.  
> So, in the middle of this chapter I got this idea about the biggest insult to an Illyrian is harming their wings and I just loved it so much that I rolled with it, so we could add more worldbuilding to Illyrian culture.  
> If you liked the chapter, leave a comment!


	25. Stay Still, Darling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry for not uploading for so long. I had my maths mock exam yesterday so I wanted to prepare for that, and on top of that, I felt like this chapter was a bit empty on its own. Give me, like, five minutes.

Feyre claws her way over to Nesta’s corpse, pleads spilling from her lips. She’s begging Nesta not to be dead; to take another breath. Nesta doesn’t move a muscle, her eyes void. Azriel wants to go over and comfort Feyre but doesn’t know what he has to offer. Rhys tugs Feyre close, resting his chin on her shoulder.

Azriel looks up, scouting the area around them. _The fighting has ceased_ , the shadows whisper, _they flee now that the Cauldron is no longer theirs_. Azriel breathes out in relief and runs a hand through his hair. _Tell my squad to look out for spies and the like_ , he orders the shadows, _tell them they can do whatever they want to those they find_. They gleefully obey, happy to be back at work.

Azriel drags himself to his feet, wiping his sweaty palms on his leathers. He can’t bring himself to feel anything over Nesta’s passing. Sure, she made a sacrifice, but Azriel can’t see how that changes anything about her. And still does he understand and sympathize with Feyre. It makes him wonder. Would he have cried for his brothers too? He’s ashamed to say that he doesn’t know.

The shadows return to him and start caressing his hands and neck. _What was it like on the other side?,_ he asks them, staring at the retreating Hybern troops. _Cold_ , the shadows answer and for the first time, they sound scared, _lonely_. They cling closer to Azriel with that.

Feyre has stopped wailing, now just silently sobbing within Rhys’s embrace. Rhys sends Azriel a look over her head, telling him to go where he is needed. The shadows hum in agreement. Rhys will take care of her and help her on her feet again. As he always has done.

Azriel lets himself melt into the shadows with an exhale. They carry him off under the battlefield, holding a tight grip on him. They move quickly, almost carelessly; trying to get him to Cass as quickly as possible. Azriel comes to in the shadow of a pile of bodies, almost tripping with how fast he is shoved out. He looks frantically around, breathing heavily.

He sobs as he catches sight of Cass. His mate is kneeling, hands tense on his thighs. His chest is moving slowly, Cass clearly trying to keep calm and still. His eyebrows are narrowed, his mouth set in a thin line.

Some Illyrian soldiers are hovering near him. Too scared to touch him, and too bound by honour to leave someone with broken wings behind. One of them has even gone as far as to kick the King of Hybern’s corpse a fair distance away, clearly not caring for his previous position.

Cass’s head snaps up, gaze on Azriel immediately. “Az, love,” he croaks and reaches his hands out, flinching when the action shifts his wings. Azriel is in his arms as quickly as possible. He lets Cass crumble in on him, leaning his forehead on Azriel’s chest.

“Has someone gone to get a healer?” he snaps at one of the soldiers, who flinches slightly. He probably should’ve been softer, but he can’t think straight. Not when Cass is hurt. “The High Lord of Dawn is on his way,” the soldier stutters, bowing his head.

Azriel raises an eyebrow and nods in thanks. That couldn’t have been easy.

He can see Thesan now, storming towards them, Eosai in tow. His armour, a mix of gold, pink and orange, is worn and covered in mud, but he still manages to look like a saint. With a faint glowing laurel around his head to go with it.

Cass shifts against Azriel and a throb goes up his back at the action. “Stay still, darling,” Azriel tells him, stroking his hands up and down Cass’s sides. Cass snorts but does as asked.

Thesan falls to his knees next to them, chest heaving and sweat glistening on his forehead. Cass is undoubtedly not the first one he’s healed. “You Illyrians can never go a battle without nearly dying,” he sighs as he takes in the sight. “Eos, you need to help Azriel hold him down. This is going to hurt”

Azriel swallows hard at those words, sweat running down his back. He knows from experience how painful it is to heal the flesh; can only imagine the pain of mending the bone. The soldiers around them flinch as well, eyes narrowed. Eosai sits down opposite to Azriel and takes hold of Cass.

“I’ll start with the bone,” Thesan murmurs, softly unfolding Cass’s wing. Cass starts shaking. Azriel can’t tell if it’s from the pain or the fear. “It’s going to be fine, love,” Azriel soothes, taking Cass’s face in his hands, “I promise”

Thesan grips the bones tight, and then starts forcing the wing back in the proper position. Cass screams, hand gripping Azriel’s thigh, but he keeps his body still. The Illyrian soldiers tense and growl, not taking the sight well. Azriel can barely contain himself from snapping, as well.

Thesan starts mending the breaking point of the bone, working up from the torn membrane and up to the bone itself. His eyes grow unfocused, dazed, and Eosai has to reach out a hand to support him.

Rhys had explained this to Azriel before, as a “Healer-high”. Azriel had seen it himself many times, too. when a healer uses so much of their power that it overtakes them, like a drug. Thesan works without even considering his actions, nimble hands moving quickly and purposely.

Azriel closes his eyes when a terrible, cracking sound comes from the mending bone, and Cass whimpers shakily. Azriel lets Cass clutch his hand tight enough to draw blood. Bjorn kneels down next to Azriel, placing a hand on his shoulder. Azriel wants to shrug it off but he stays still, not wanting to accidentally hurt Cass.

Azriel looks up to notice that many Illyrians have crowded around them, eyes trained on Cass’s shaking form. Most of them have two fingers resting on their heart; respect and glory. Most of these soldiers would’ve sneered at Cass a few weeks back and _wished_ for his wings to break. It’s strange to see them emit an emotion other than hatred or disgust around Cass, and Azriel himself, for that matter.

It makes Azriel swell with pride, in a way, that Cass has inspired this loyalty in them. That even when he’s shaking and broken, these Illyrians see his strength.

Thesan sighs and the faint glow that came from him lessens. Most of the membrane is still torn, but Thesan has decided to move onto the other wing. Cass takes a deep breath as Thesan’s glow returns. “I’m here for you, love,” Azriel mutters after leaning down over Cass.

Cass soon loses consciousness, falling limp in his embrace. Azriel keeps on holding him tight.

When he’s done, Thesan rises on wobbly legs with support from Eosai. “No heavy activity for at least ten days,” he says before he lets Eosai lift him and carry him off. Ten days. It could’ve been worse. Still, for Cass, it’ll be far too long.

Azriel orders the Illyrians to go look for survivors and bring them to the closest healer. They leave reluctantly. Azriel shifts Cass around so it’s easier to hold him without having to constantly heft him up again.

Rhys and Feyre appear on either side of him, hands coming out to rest on Cass’s limp form. “He’ll be fine,” Feyre mutters, her other hand reaching up to thread through Azriel’s hair. Lucien is quickly there, asking what he can do and telling them where they can take Cass safely.

With some encouragement from Lucien, Azriel hefts Cass up and starts carrying him. His wings start sloping down, so Azriel has to shift his hold to keep them up, as well. A small group of Illyrians start following them, holding a respectful distance. Mor eventually joins their little group, allowing Rhys to drag her along. Fae step out of their way when they walk through the makeshift camp that has been set up.

When they run into him, Helion takes one glance at them and immediately has a tent ready. Somehow, Anuie made his way into the tent with them. He takes Mor off Rhys’s shoulder and lets her lean on him instead.

Azriel lays Cass down on the bed carefully, angling him so he lands on his stomach. When Cass is settled properly, Azriel sets to positioning the wings properly as well. His breath catches when his fingers fleet over the scarred and thin-stretched tissue. He has to force himself to remember that Cass’s wings have recovered from worse.

“I’ll stay with him tonight,” Azriel says, his voice coming out raspy, “You all go get some rest”

“We’re not leaving you alone after…” Rhys starts but is cut off by both Feyre and Lucien tugging him out of the tent. Mor holds a hand out and Azriel grabs it briefly, letting her squeeze it before she, too, leaves with Anuie on her arm.

Azriel sighs and curls over Cass’s body, grabbing his hand between his own. Cass’s chest rises and falls slowly, his breaths deep. Azriel lays his ear against Cass’s heart, wants to hear it immediately if something goes wrong. He tries to stay awake, to watch over Cass, but his eyes droop quickly and then he’s gone into darkness; still slumped over Cass.

 

-:-

 

Azriel wakes with a start, hands scrambling over Cass’s form. For a too long amount of seconds, he’d been back there. In the basement of his father’s house. Feeling Cass’s warm skin against his helps him calm down enough to tear himself out of the feeling. Cass’s hand comes to rest upon Azriel’s.

“Nightmare?” he asks, rubbing his thumb back and forth. Azriel nods, relaxing at the familiar feeling. Cass starts humming, shifting his back to feel out the wings. “How long am I bedridden?” he asks. “Ten days,” Azriel answers and gets an expected hiss in return. “Give it three days and you can go do…less tiring tasks,” he continues, grinning. Cass sticks his tongue out at him.

Azriel laughs.

_The others have started a meeting,_ the shadows whisper, _making a treaty with the humans; we thought it best to let you sleep. Thank you_ , Azriel answers, and gives them further instructions to go fetch Daeva. Rhys and Feyre will sort it out for them; they always do. Cass’s fingers keep on running over his knuckles, an unbroken rhythm.

“You’ll never stop putting yourself in danger, will you?” Azriel murmurs. “As long as there’s danger out there,” Cass answers, “No, I won’t”

Azriel snuggles into Cass’s skin; tries to make him understand the weight behind his words. “I cannot lose you, Cass,” he says, “I _will_ not lose you”

He will destroy the Cauldron itself if it means saving Cass. He will destroy Prythian itself. Cass hums, tangling their fingers together with a smile. He kisses the top of Azriel’s head, letting his breath ghost over the strands of his hair. Azriel knows that he’d understood.

“Whatever you say, love,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter!  
> Yeah, I bullshittet the healing again bc I'm that kind of person.  
> Honestly the whole "Loved one is hurt" thing is kind of overused int his fic bc neither of them will stop throwing themselves into danger, but that's the way it is.  
> Please, don't be afraid to comment!  
> As I said, five minutes.


	26. Just Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter I just want you to remember this quote from ACOMAF:   
> "His half-brothers hadn’t been forthcoming either. I knew because I’d met them, asked them, and had shattered their legs when they’d spat on Azriel instead.  
> They’d walked again—eventually"  
> It's very important.   
> There is some maybe triggering content in this, in reference to blood and possibly gore, I've placed trigger warnings anyways just to be on the safe side. The start and end of triggering content will be marked with   
> {--TW--}  
> Anyways, enjoy!

 

It smells of ashes and steel when they winnow into the Illyrian camps. Many weapons to rework. Many bodies to burn. Some of the soldiers throw glares their way. Some of them touch two fingers to their hearts. It doesn’t really matter to Azriel anymore.

He slips a hand around Cass’s waist, even if Cass had insisted he needed no help. After three days of bed rest in Velaris Cass had decided that, if he wasn’t allowed to fly, he’d at least make himself useful some other way. And by “useful”, Azriel meant going around the house whining and creating trouble around every single new compromise Rhys made with the other High Lords.

Eventually, Azriel had grown tired of it and dragged him here. Now that the war is over, they’ve started to rebuild the Nightmare Court and certain situations were already o their way to be handled. Rhys had pulled Azriel aside yesterday, offering him a gift. Azriel, after some thought, had accepted it. He’d known his entire life that he’d have to address this. That he’d have to revisit his personal hell and bring them to justice. He’d brought Cass as safety. Couldn’t bring himself to face it alone.

Cass sends Azriel a dirty look but lets him keep his hand there in a silent thanks for the help. They walk through the camp silently, their intent here too heavy on their shoulders. Azriel grows tenser as they get closer to the large bonfire that is at the centre of each camp. They’ll be here. Azriel knows because the shadows know.

He’s scared. He’s a work of death. He’s Rhys’s General. He’s the goddamn Shadowsinger to the High Lord of Night. And still, he’s scared. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being scared. And that’s okay, he thinks, because after today they won’t be around to scare him much more.

The bonfire comes into view, the large flames licking at the dusking sky. There are many Illyrians there, talking and laughing among each other. Two of them pause in the middle of their laughter, wings flaring slightly. They turn to look. Yean’s eyes widen when he sees them before he recomposes himself.

He nudges Amedio and nods towards Cass and Azriel’s nearing forms. Amedio turns, too. He smirks. Azriel’s heart starts beating faster—it always did when Amedio smirked that way at him. Yean murmurs something that makes Amedio chuckle.

A small part of Azriel wants to turn around and flee. Just leave them here to their games and never return to this wretched place again. He knows he can’t, but he wishes he could. He squeezes around Cass’s waist once before letting go; knows that Cass wants to face them head-on. When they get closer Yean and Amedio turn fully, wings bristling and arrogant smirks already painted on their faces.

This is it.

“Finally,” Cass growls, “Their legs weren’t enough”

Azriel nearly smiles when he recalls the memory of his brothers on the ground, begging for mercy. He manages to keep it at bay, though. smiling at them won’t make them come calmly. Possibly nothing will. Azriel is prepared to use force.

The wind turns with them, washing their scents over Amedio and Yean. Their entangled scent. Yean shakes his head in disgust, while Amedio’s smirk deepens. They already know about Cass and Azriel, but they didn’t know about the bond. Azriel would’ve preferred it to stay that way, but it’s not like he ever gets what he wants. Still, it rubs at his heart the wrong way.

They come to a stop before the two, meeting their eyes. Azriel knows that he and Cass don’t look imposing to them; that they see two children playing at being soldiers. Because they’ve had the privilege to watch Azriel break. They’ve had the privilege of _breaking_ Azriel.

“Hello, little weakling,” Yean smirks. Azriel flinches before he can control himself. Damn them. They get a kick out of watching him like this and aren’t afraid to exploit it whenever it pleases them.

“Still haven’t learned your manners, have you?” Cass bites back.

Amedio laughs with thrill, the sound echoing over the hills, while Yean smirks. Azriel feels his cheek warm and curses himself for still reacting like this and Cass for raising to their bait. “My, my, _dear Azriel_ ,” Yean croons, “You’ve _finally_ found someone willing to stick it in you”

Azriel tries to force a snarl but can’t quite manage it. “Watch your tongue,” Cass answers and Azriel wishes he would just _shut up_. Amedio laughs again, his eyes shining with that old, familiar cruelty. Yean steps closer, sizing Cass up. Cass bares his teeth and Azriel swallows.

“Stop,” he says, “Cass, _stop_ ”

Amedio’s eyes snap to Azriel, flowing over every curve of his body. Then he smirks. Azriel’s stomach drops and his heart freezes over. They’re going to do it now. “What’s it like when you fuck him, Cassian?” Amedio asks, loud and clear, “Is he tight? I always imagined him tight. Too bad he left before I could breach him in.”

Some of the passing males snicker. Azriel isn’t going to pretend that Amedio’s voice didn’t carry; that every Illyrian here hadn’t heard. Bile rises in Azriel’s throat and he finds it difficult to breathe. Amedio had always been cruel with his words and Azriel had quickly grown used to them. But. But the way he leers at Azriel when he says it. And the meaning of those words. The _implications_. The things Amedio has imagined doing to him…

Cass’s shoulder square, eyes burning and siphons blazing. A loud, guttural growl rips out of his throat and it makes the males around them turn and stare. “ _Cass_ ,” Azriel says, but his mate won’t hear. He shoves his hand onto Yean’s chest, pushing him aside to get up in Amedio’s face.

“You still walk with a limp, don’t you?” he says, deadly quiet, “I could get Rhys, right now, and we could make that limp worse. Or maybe we should break something else this time?” Cass cocks his head, inclining towards Amedio’s wings. Amedio tenses, his face pale. “You should be careful…” he starts, but Cassian gives him a loud laugh, cruel in its nature.

“Who do you have now, Amedio?” he jeers, “Az, he has the most powerful High Lord on his side, the newly made faerie with power from all seven courts, the Lady of Nightmares and a tiny ancient being who could kill you with a snap of her fingers. We’re his family now, and we won’t turn into monsters like you two. I’ll ask you again. Who. Do. You. Have?”

Amedio averts his eyes, arrogance knocked down a few pegs now. Yean stares, eyes flickering between the two Illyrians. With Amedio’s confidence gone, Yean’s crumbles, too. His hand starts twitching, as it always does when he’s nervous. “He’s not here, is he?” he asks, his voice not so strong anymore.

He’s referring to Rhys. The only person that had ever frightened Yean before. And that was only when they viewed him as an Illyrian. They have yet to meet him as the High Lord of Night.

“No, he’s not,” Azriel says, crossing his arms over his chest, “But he _is_ waiting for you—and we’ve been sent to fetch you”

“You’re insane if you think we’ll come with you willingly,” Amedio laughs and shoves at Cass’s chest. Even then, it’s weakly. “I didn’t expect you to,” Azriel smiles before he unleashes his shadows on them.

 

-:-

 

It takes them no time to get Yean and Amedio to the Nightmare Court, both chained. They appear in a small sitting room, that is completely bare. They’ve gotten far on renovations. Cass has left for the Courtroom, reporting to Rhys.

It means Azriel has to stay behind with his brothers. Cass had been reluctant to leave, but Azriel had reassured him with a smile and a kiss. He hears gagging noises from his brothers at that. Cass is gone fast; almost too fast for Azriel’s liking.

He places himself by a wall, as far away from his brothers as possible. It doesn’t stop them growling at him. Nor does it erase the hatred in their eyes.

“Why have you brought us here?” Yean sneers, yanking at the chains around his wrists. “To bring justice,” Lucien says, entering the room. he’s clothed entirely in white again; a morning star in the dark night. He places himself at Azriel’s side, not too close but not too far away either.

Azriel isn’t even sure that Lucien knows their entire history—what they did to him—but he stands here nonetheless. Because they are family now; They won’t abandon each other.

Amedio spits at Lucien’s feet, not at all impressed by his slight and lean build. Lucien just arches an eyebrow. “That won’t get you anywhere,” he says and grabs Azriel’s hand. “You’re lucky Azriel’s leaving now. Or maybe unlucky. He would’ve killed you faster, I think.”

Yean’s expression is nearly comical in its nature. Amedio just stares, showing no signs of fear. He was like this when Rhys and Cass came for him, too. He’ll ease out eventually.

Azriel steps towards the door, tugging on his leathered gloves. He doesn’t want any more blood on his skin. Not so soon after the war. Any of it touches him—and he’s reminded of Cass’s bloodied and torn wings.

“You’re leaving us here with _him_?” Yean yells to his back, “What, you want us to die from laughter?”

“His father is the High Lord of Day,” Azriel says, quietly, “You know what a sun does? Burn”

The shadows see Lucien smirk, his eyes beginning to glow with power. Yean stares and then starts laughing. It starts quietly and then rises more and more until it echoes through the halls. He cranes his head back as he does it, leaning so far back that he topples over. “So you want us to have a taste of our own medicine?” he shrieks, “Is that it?”

It’s close to uncomfortable—watching Yean lose himself in such a way. It’s so far away from what Azriel’s used to. Still, he manages to stay calm and not show how unnerved he is.

“Among other things,” he says with a shrug, “Rhys will be joining you shortly”

Yean’s laughter stops abruptly, replaced by a slight hitching of his breath. Amedio closes his eyes and keeps his face neutral. But his body betrays him, tremors running through his body in waves. Azriel ignores them and turns to Lucien.

“Thank you,” he mutters, not just for saying something. For only being there. He’s not sure Lucien has any idea how much his support means. No matter how many years go by, Azriel still feels like a child when facing his brothers. That weak, terrified boy that had never flown. That had never seen the sky. That had known nothing but cruelty.

Azriel leaves them there and sets his course for the Courtroom. The Hewn City is already being redecorated; images of torture and suffering disappearing in favour of clean slates. His steps echo through the halls, empty now that all the scum has been purged.

Even the Courtroom has been cleaned, that hideous throne gone. In its place stands a creation of bright, white stone. It was the first thing Mor had replaced. Now she sits on it, red skirts flowing over her feet and onto the steps below her. Her hair is braided through a silver crown that undoubtedly had previously belonged to her mother. Anuie is lounging on the steps to her left, his face hard.

Four figures are on the floor in front of the throne, shaking and sneering. Azriel passes them without much care, Azriel seeking out Cass—standing directly at Mor’s left. “Took you long enough,” Cass murmurs against his lips when he gives him a welcoming kiss. Azriel hums and flicks at Cass’s wrist. Mor directs him to stand on her right.

Keir is glaring at him from his place; kneeling over the ashes of the old throne. His wife is next to him, rigid and cold. She doesn’t even want to look at her daughter—too ashamed of what she is. What they _made_ her. Eallar and Thrall are on each side, bloodied and bruised. Mor and Rhys had obviously given them a little taste of what was to come.

“You cannot do this, you bitch,” Thrall hisses, “The members of this Court won’t stand for it”

“It’s a good thing we’ve _removed_ them from the Court then,” Mor drawls, running her fingertips along the throne. She crosses her legs and leans back, relaxed. It unnerves the four of them—seeing this confidence from her in this place. Keir is already shaking with rage, fists clenched.

“It was Cass I promised mother and Eallar to, wasn’t it?” Mor asks in the most innocent voice she can muster, glancing up at the male in mention. Cass nods, eyes shining. “Which means Az gets Thrall and Keir,” he continues for her.

Keir looks downright terrified. Eallar starts tugging on his chains, trying to scramble backwards. Mor’s mother slumps, closing her eyes, as if she’s accepted her fate. Thrall audibly swallows, eyes flickering.

Cass starts his descent from the throne, tugging out an Illyrian longsword and swiping it twice on his armour. It makes a surprisingly frightening view. Cass circles Mor’s family, shoes clicking on the polished floor. He lets his blade slide over Eallar’s shoulder, cutting just enough to draw blood. Eallar starts shaking. “Stop them,” He tells Anuie, who has risen to stare more closely, “I’m your brother, _stop them_ ”

Anuie cocks his head to the side, smirking. He doesn’t give an answer—leaves them to squirm under his gaze. Azriel finds much satisfaction in that.

{--TW--}

Eallar breathes out in relief when the blade leaves his shoulder, shoulders sagging. He jumps, though, when Cass steps forward and grabs his mother by the hair. He jerks her head up, baring her throat.

Keir starts struggling.

“Look at her,” Cass says quietly, running his blade down her cheek, “Look at that _beautiful_ woman, and realize that you wasted your chance to love her”

She stares at Mor, emotionless. She doesn’t even fight when Cass brings forward his sword to lay it at her throat and slit it open. Mor’s mother opens her mouth in a silent scream and her eyes roll back, but her body stays still. Dark, red blood spills down from her throat and paints her entire front in the colour. It pools on the floor, overwhelming the pristine stone. Mor’s mother coughs a few times, spitting blood and gore over the steps.

Both Thrall and Eallar cry out for Cass to stop but he’s already let go of her, dropping her face-first to the floor. Azriel glances over at Anuie, searching for any kind of discomfort or need to leave. But his face is hard stone.

Azriel gets to work, as well.

He goes for Thrall first—pulling out his twin daggers and sharpening them on each other. “Where do you want to start?” he asks.

“Your face or your cock?”

Thrall shakes his head, struggling against the chains. Azriel sighs. “Face, then,” he says. Thrall starts screaming, wringing his body. The sound is borderline annoying.

Thrall’s voice dies out before Azriel’s done.

He turns to Keir, who is shivering. “Wasn’t it enough to kill my heirs in front of my eyes?” he asks, voice raspy. Azriel smiles and shakes his head. “Not nearly enough,” he answers and reaches into a small pocket that lays on his thigh.

Mor gasps.

“I think I’ll carve out your heart with this one,” Azriel says and twirls a rusty nail between his fingers. The nail they’d used on Mor all those years ago to fasten that note to her stomach. He’s used many resources to keep it from being destroyed. He’d waited for Mor’s gift for so long; planned meticulously for this moment. How he’d do it. How long he’d take. How much he wanted Keir to scream.

Azriel glances back up at Mor, wanting her approval for what he’s about to do. Mor is staring at his hand, eyes wide and hands clenching the throne. She stands up, and Azriel has a moment of doubt. Maybe this would be too much for her. Maybe he’d miscalculated.

“Make it quick,” she says coldly, “I don’t want to look at his disgusting face anymore”

Azriel grins at her and turns back to Keir. In the corner of his eye, he sees Cass.

He has Eallar on his back and is kneeling over his chest, doing something to his face that Azriel can’t see. Eallar’s body jerks and trembles, echoing against the floor. “Don’t strain your back too much, darling,” Azriel calls over to Cass, “Thesan will have your head if you do”

He can hear Cass laughing faintly.

Keir has closed his eyes— is denying what is happening. Azriel places a hand under his chin, tilting his head up. “Open your eyes,” he says softly, “I want you to look me in the face when I kill you”

Keir slowly opens his eyes, lip quivering. “You’re as much of a monster as they say you are,” he says and spits at him. Azriel laughs humourlessly, moving his hand to cup Keir’s face. He leans down and at the same time runs the nail down the other male’s chest. “I’m not,” he whispers and stops the nail at his heart. He starts to dig it in, and in Keir’s eyes, he can see the struggle not to scream. “I’m _more_ of a monster than they say”

 

{--TW ENDING--}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter.   
> Grammarly seriously suggested that Eallar's name should be Dallas. Give kudos if you think I should change his name to Dallas.  
> Making Azriel's brothers not be killed by him is a good decision, I feel, because Azriel is done with them, and it's them that are constantly trying to bring him down. To have Rhys and Lucien destroy them feels so much better. Also a bit of family feels for the Inner Circle.   
> If you enjoyed this chapter, feel free to say so in the comments!
> 
> And, wait...is that...in a few more minutes....no


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning that the next chapter won't come out as fast. We are entering exam season at my school and I have other things that can pop up, so idk how long the last chapter will take.  
> What I do know is that I had very much fun writing this one!  
> All you need to know is that Azriel makes good on his promise.

Azriel smiles as he enters Cass’s room. The curtains are drawn back, and the morning light is streaming through them, bathing the room in warmth. Cass is stretched out on his bed, resembling a lazy cat.

Both Azriel and Cass had decided that they needed a small break after the happenings in the Nightmare Court. Time to figure out their own thoughts and heal in their own way. And now, two days later, the need they’d had for this had started to shine through. Everything is somewhat _less_ now—not messy anymore.

It’s good to see Cass relax more, too. To finally have him lay back and accept staying in bed for half a day with no other reason but to cuddle. Azriel feels it through the mating bond, as well, that Cass is becoming more and more like the person he’s always wanted to be. A calm stronghold that doesn’t revel in pain and blood. Azriel hopes he can reach that goal, too.

Now, he throws himself down next to Cass. His bare feet brush against the sheets as he abandoned his pants in the bathroom. He splays himself out and hums, letting the shadows sink out over the sheets. Cass cracks his eyes open and smiles at Azriel. He reaches a finger out to let the shadows twine around it. “Y’know,” Cass mumbles, “Maybe ten days in bed isn’t so bad”

“I never expected to hear such a sentence from you,” Azriel says, “Who are you and what have you done to my Cassian?”

Cass laughs briefly before he shifts over on his side and starts running his hand down Azriel’s stomach. Azriel’s breath immediately stutters. “ _My Cassian_ , huh?” Cass teases, “I mean, it’s not wrong”

Azriel tries to come up with a smart reply but ends up just smiling goofily at his mate. He’s so weak. Azriel grabs Cass’s hand on his stomach and twines their fingers together. Leads it downwards. Cass’s breath hitches. “Oh, really?” he asks, his voice already a few octaves lower.

Heat pools in Azriel’s stomach and the space between his legs where he’s already prepared himself aches. He nods, letting Cass’s hand cup around his hardening cock. Cass starts massaging, smirking when Azriel whines low in his throat. “We can’t do too much, though,” Cass complains, “My wings are still too…”

“No, we don’t,” Azriel answers, rolling himself on top of Cass. Cass lets out an appreciative gasp when Azriel settles over his midsection and runs his hands up his abs. Cass shifts, moving his wings into a more comfortable position. “I _did_ promise you a ride,” Azriel croons as he rakes his fingers down over Cass’s chest.

Cass chuckles and settles his hands on Azriel’s hips. He shoves at them, moving Azriel back to hover over his crotch. Cass’s eyes rake over his body and settle on his bare thighs, where slick is dripping down. His hand is quickly moved from Azriel’s hip to the inside of his thigh, trailing it. “You already…?”

“Wanted to be ready for you,” Azriel gasps, rocking his hips against Cass’s touch. And because he’s kind of desperate. He has no patience for foreplay right now—he wants Cass inside him. He shows Cass as much, grabbing hold of his hand and leading it to his hole.

Cass slips his fingers inside, groping at Azriel’s insides and stretching. Azriel starts breathing hard, his thighs shaking. He bunches up his shirt at the front of his waist, gripping it tightly. His cock catches in the fabric, sending shivers up his spine. Cass breathes out a pleased sound at that, eyes trained on where his fingers are going in.

“Is it weird that I’m turned on by you being halfway clothed?” Cass murmurs, gaze going up to Azriel’s waist. Azriel half-laughs-half-moans. He starts moving his hips back and forth, trying to get as much of Cass’s fingers inside him as possible.

Azriel clenches his fingers and leans back, sinking further down on Cass’s fingers. It’s ridiculous. He’d already prepared, doesn’t need Cass’s fingers inside him, but he keeps wanting them deeper and more. Can’t stop.

“Cass,” he mewls and drops one of his hands to lean on Cass’s chest. He bites his lip, swallowing the next sound that bubbled up his throat. Cass smirks and pulls his fingers out. Azriel can’t catch himself in time to stop a protesting whine. “Unbutton my pants for me, will you, darling?” Cass says, more an order than a request. Azriel grins and reaches down to obey. “No,” Cass stops him with, “Do it with your teeth”

Azriel is sure he stops breathing for a moment. He gets himself up on all fours and shimmies down until his breath hits Cass’s crotch. He stares for a moment, unsure of how to proceed, before he decides to just go for it. He bites onto the fabric of Cass’s pants and uses his tongue to push the button out.

He does the same to the rest of them and, during his process, Cass’s hand comes to rest on his head, tugging at his hair.

Azriel finally gets them open and is greeted by the sight of Cass’s cock slowly rising against his cheek. Azriel glances up at Cass through his eyelashes, rolling out his tongue to give a small kittenish lick to his cock. Cass curses and grips his hair tightly. “Good boy,” he hisses. Azriel smiles.

He runs his tongue on the underside of Cass’s dick, delighting in the soft moan that comes out of his mouth. Then he pulls away and sits up on his knees again. He presses his thumb against Cass’s cockhead, collects a small droplet of precum and brings it to his mouth to lick it off. Cass groans and reaches a hand out, grabbing Azriel’s bicep to tug him up again. “You’re a damn masterpiece, Az,” he says.

Azriel snorts as he settles himself over Cass’s waist again. He sits down wholly, feeling the hard curve of Cass’s cock against his ass. He rocks his hips once. Cass shivers, running his fingers up and down Azriel’s thighs.

He tries to take charge—grab onto Azriel’s hips and control his pace. Azriel takes Cass’s hands and pins them on either side of his head. “Oh no, you don’t,” he croons. Cass is wide-eyed for a moment, arching an eyebrow. He grows noticeably harder under Azriel. “Okay,” he breathes, sounding incredulous at his own reaction, “I can get behind this”

Azriel doesn’t know whether to be ecstatic or frightened at his reaction. Cass has always liked being in charge—not really the type to submit, even to Azriel. Now, though, he leans back and only struggles slightly against Azriel’s hold. Even then, it’s just to play up the imagination of Azriel controlling him.

“Keep your hands there,” Azriel orders him and lets go of his hands to sit up straight. He reaches behind himself and grabs hold of Cass’s dripping cock. Cass’s hips instinctively thrust upwards into Azriel’s grip, and his lips fall open in a silent moan. Azriel reaches down with his other hand and taps his fingers against Cass’s hip. “No moving,” he says, “Your back should be resting”

Cass grins and lets his body fall flat against the sheets. “Indulge me,” he teases. Azriel slowly drags his hand up and down Cass’s cock. Cass closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip. “That’s exactly what I intend to do,” Azriel teases back with a smirk.

He positions himself above Cass’s cock and starts to lower himself. His thighs are already aching softly from fatigue, so to lay them parallel over his shins is an almost euphoric feeling. His mouth falls open in an “o” when he gets Cass’s tip inside him.

Cass’s wrists lift ever-so-slightly from the bedding before they fall down again and Azriel can see that Cass is using breathing techniques to keep himself calm. Azriel licks his lips and starts sliding himself downwards, breath stuttering as he takes in more and more. Even with the preparations he did, Cass’s length is stretching him wide.

Azriel has slid halfway down Cass’s cock before he needs to stop. He has to reach down and support himself on Cass’s chest, hips stuttering. He can’t help the groan that slips out. Pure bliss moves up his spine and makes his wings flex. “You feel so good inside me, Cass,” he breathes, trailing a hand up his own thigh.

Cass’s eyes follow the movement, and his tongue flickers out to wet his lips. “Could you keep—” he pauses to stare when Azriel wraps his hand around his shirt and tugs it up to his chest, “—keep touching yourself like that?”

Azriel nods, cheeks warming again. Having Cass watch him with such intensity is almost making him squirm. He’s had doubts about his body for as long as he got out of his prison. His hands have always been the worst. He’d always felt like they ruined him; that his scars had destroyed whatever appeal he’d had before.

Until Cass had spent an entire afternoon kissing them and praising him. Until Cass laid him down, touched him all over and told him every single perfect part of his body and how much he enjoyed them. He’d made Azriel come on only his fingers that night.

Azriel is more than happy to indulge Cass with his body. He takes the shirt between his teeth, leaving his chest completely bare, and trails his hand down the middle of his chest; slowly. He starts rocking his hips, gradually taking Cass inside inch by inch. Soon enough, Cass is in to the hilt, pulsing against Azriel’s insides. Azriel has to force himself not to moan, not to shiver uncontrollably and beg Cass to roll them over and take him good.

Cass loosens a quick breath, hands coming up again. He stops them, two centimetres from Azriel’s chest. His eyes flicker up to Azriel’s face before going down to his chest again, unsure if he should disobey or not. “If you touch me, I’ll stop moving,” Azriel warns, cocking his head to the side. Cass huffs but lets his hands fall again.

Azriel hadn’t thought him willing to obey so easily. It’s a thought that makes him surprisingly aroused. He’d never considered _himself_ being in charge whenever they lay together, always content to let Cass have his way. It’s a new territory that he is excited to explore.

He swirls his hips, moving in steady rocks too keep Cass as deep as possible at all times. Can’t bear the thought of not having him so deep. He cranes his neck, dragging his shirt even higher ad uncovering the lower part of his neck. Cass’s stare immediately goes to it. Azriel grins, letting his hand move up his torso. He goes slowly, teasing. He wraps his hand around his throat when he reaches it, squeezing tightly.

Cass’s breath hitches. Azriel opens his mouth and lets the fabric slip out, ordering the shadows to hold it up instead. “You enjoying the view?” he taunts, arching his back to make Cass’s cock press against that one spot. “Among other things,” Cass answers, breathless. His hand is gripping the sheets tightly with the struggle not to reach out.

“You wanna touch me?” Azriel continues, pressing his shins into the bed to get better composure. Making it seem like sitting on Cass’s cock isn’t taking him apart and leaving him a mess. Cass nods, hands hovering over just at Azriel’s waist.

“Beg,” Azriel orders him before he really understands what he’s saying. His cheeks warm. He certainly hadn’t meant to take so much charge when he’d come into this room. He stops craning his neck, leans forward over Cass with a confident smile.

Cass has grown silent, face unreadable. His eyes shift between Azriel’s hands, his face and his throat. He trails a finger lightly against Azriel’s thigh, contemplating. “Please,” he finally mutters, silently, “Please, let me touch you, Az, I _need_ —”

“Yeah, yeah,” Azriel cuts him off with, leaning back to take Cass’s hand and bring it to his mouth. Cass moans at the sight, hips stuttering and rolling. Azriel loses himself for a moment, the feeling of Cass pressing up into him overwhelming. He knows that he won’t keep Cass still until the end, probably won’t be able to come without Cass mounting him like a proper mate.

He opens his mouth and sucks Cass’s fingers inside, reaching out to take Cass’s other hand in his and guiding it to his abdomen. Cass takes independence immediately and runs his fingertips up Azriel’s front, from crotch to throat. Two of his fingers stay at the throat to apply pressure. Azriel groans, biting slightly around the fingers. Cass removes them almost immediately and instead takes a steady hold of his hip.

The moment Cass grips it, Azriel knows he won’t have the charge for long. He desperately tries though, letting his tongue lick away at Cass’s fingertips to keep his fingers in his mouth. Cass chuckles and spreads his fingers, holding Azriel’s mouth open. “You almost look as good you do when you’re sucking on my cock,” he murmurs, a cocky smirk on his lips, “But nothing is better than that sight”

Azriel moans loudly, not able to swallow it down or block it out with his lips. He tries to sway his hips, but Cass’s grip on them is firm. He’s almost breathless when Cass presses his fingers further in. His eyes slip closed, and his hands go back to gripping his shirt tightly again.

Cass thrusts his hips up roughly once, jolting Azriel and sending sparks up his spine. Azriel chokes on Cass’s fingers and Cass pulls them out to lay them on the other side of his hip. “I assume you’re done with your little fun now?” he asks, arching a teasing eyebrow, acting as if Azriel taking charge was nothing more than that—a little fun.

“Because I really want to fuck you silly, and I’m tired of waiting”

Azriel breathes out roughly before putting on a nonchalant expression and saying “Fuck me, then, if you’re so impatient”

Cass growls and sits up from the bed in a ripple of abdominal muscles. Azriel pants as Cass’s hands encircle his waist. “You know, you always act so confident when I’m about to take you,” Cass rumbles, one spit-slicked hand travelling up his back, “but when we finally get down to it you turn into a goddamn harlot”

Azriel whimpers and lets his head fall forward to rest on Cass’s shoulder. Cass’s grip on him tightens and then he’s lifted up, Cass’s cock dragging against his insides. He nearly chokes on his own spit when Cass drops him roughly and thrusts his hips up at the same time. The action jolts Azriel’s body and creates a messy rhythm that Azriel’s pleasure-hazed mind can’t keep up with.

“Lean back, lovely,” Cass orders against his ear, “I want to see your face”

Azriel’s head takes a few seconds to register what Cass had said, and then he proceeds to obey. His hands come up to rest on Cass’s chest, nails raking at the skin. His cheeks warm immediately. Cass is watching him with a wicked grin, satisfaction written all over him. “There we go,” he mutters, before lifting Azriel again.

This time, when he’s dropped, Azriel doesn’t bother to even try to be silent. He whines loudly; loud enough to sound into the neighbour rooms, he’s sure. He hopes Mor has gone out for the day.

One of his hands come up to grip the back of Cass’s head and he leans their foreheads together, gasping open-mouthed against Cass’s skin. He rocks his hips when he can, making sure that Cass’s cock occasionally presses up against his prostate.

Cass begins to thrust rougher, keeping Azriel completely still in his grip. His movements quicken, cock pounding in hard and fast. The action rips a sound of pure need from Azriel’s throat. He’s held here, over Cass’s cock, like he’s nothing more than a toy for Cass to enjoy. It turns him on more than it should.

Cass finally makes a sound other than his deep groan, a small sound of delight when Azriel tugs roughly at his hair. They’re both sensitive, over-stimulated, from the excessive foreplay, and Azriel can feel the real consequence of that now.

His hips are burning and aching; a feeling like he’s being lifted into the air spreading all the way to his fingertips; a tightening heat pooling in his stomach; the shadows are twisting and jerking over his skin, gasping in their own way.

He feels his orgasm creep up on him, far too quickly for his liking. But he accepts it quickly, knowing that Cass won’t stop now. His hips are moving quick and strong, fucking into Azriel with precision. Cass is still watching him intently, lip caught between his teeth.

Their faces are so close together, that Azriel can’t help but feel embarrassed. To have Cass staring so intensely at him, losing himself to pleasure. Azriel mewls, gripping Cass’s bicep in a bruising hold. “You’re rather sweet when you do that,” Cass comments before licking at the corner of his lip, “Love it when you show me how good I make you feel”

Azriel doesn’t, can’t, answer. He only presses himself closer to Cass’s body, catching his cock between the two of them. He gasps at the new feeling, hips stuttering. Cass grins, letting one hand go from Azriel’s waist to cup his face. “Are you coming for me?” he asks, voice teasing, “Gonna spill all over me like the good little boy you are?”

Azriel lets out a half-choked groan, eyes growing wide. That won’t do it, he knows, not enough. “More,” he pleads, “Talk more to me, please”

Cass hums against his lips. “You’re that desperate for it?” he starts, “Probably can’t get off without hearing me talk about how good you look bouncing on my cock like that. Think you can come from only me talking to you like this? I think so. You’d try to, just to please me.

“Because you’re such a lovely little whore, always eager to please. Always eager to lay yourself down and spread your legs for me. We could be out in fucking public and you would bend over with just a word from me. Spread wide open and let me take you right there”

And that does it for Azriel, makes him come all over his and Cass’s stomachs. He closes his eyes as he does, can’t handle Cass looking at him in such a way as he comes. Cass’s lips brush against his cheek. “So beautiful,” is whispered against his skin.

Three more thrusts, grinding against Azriel’s tender and oversensitive insides, and Cass is spilling inside him, a growl ripping from his throat. A few more well-placed thrusts gets Cass through the after-shock and then he falls back on the bed again, dragging Azriel with him. Cass’s cock slips out of him as he does, and it gets a half-hearted groan from his throat.

Cass threads his fingers through Azriel’s sweat-slicked hair, eyes still trained and focused. “I wish you would stop that,” Azriel pants, getting off Cass to lay on his side. “Stop what?”

“Looking at me like that”

“Why should I? I should be allowed to appreciate the sight of my beautiful mate sated and happy”

Azriel smiles, doesn’t bother to argue any more. He just sighs and curls up on Cass’s side.

He needs to leave in about an hour, to help establish a new place for the Shadowsingers to stay and develop their powers. Their decades spent underground and in shadows have made them a little out of touch with the current world. Many of the younger have also taken quite a liking to Azriel. Especially this one boy…

Azriel glances over at Cass, considering if he should say something.

“What’s wrong?” Cass asks, arching an eyebrow.

Well, the option of not saying anything just got thrown out the window. “You know how you said you wanted to have a child with me?” Azriel asks, fingers tapping against Cass’s chest in a nervous tick. “Yeah,” Cass answers.

“Well, there’s this one boy, a Shadowsinger, he really likes me, and constantly asks about you. He’s seven, or was when he made himself into a shadow…,” he stops to consider his next words, “If—If you wanted to, we could…”

“Yes,” Cass answers before he’s even finished asking, “Yes a hundred times, _shit_ , Az”

He’s smiling broadly, tears in his eyes. Everything he’s ever dreamed of. Azriel nods, smiling back. “I’ll talk to him then,” he says softly.

And then they can start their family.

Here

Together

It seems like the start of something wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go! We needed some final smut before it was over, and Azriel DID promise to ride him. 
> 
> Cass probably has to tell Azriel he's beautiful like five times a day for him to actually start believing it.   
> Okay, so I know that commenting on smut and stuff can seem embarrassing, but don't let that stop you. If you enjoyed the chapter feel free to tell me, you don't have to go into any great detail at all.
> 
> Thank you for reading and please leave a comment!


	28. A Peaceful Legacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so grateful for everyone who followed me on the journey through this fic and sent their love to me and it.
> 
> This was a pure passion project and it warms my heart that so many others loved it along with me.  
> Thank you for dedicating your time to reading my fanfiction and my story!
> 
> I hope this epilogue is satisfactory to you!  
> ENJOY

~Eight Years Later~

 

Azriel leans back on his elbows, squinting at the falling sun. The sun had been shining high today, creating a heatwave, unlike anything the Night Court had ever seen before. Azriel is fully convinced it is Lucien’s doing. He’d been overheated the entire day. A light breeze brushes over his skin, cools him at least a little bit.

He’d had the entire day off, Rhys telling him that he was allowed to spoil his generals every now and then. After the war, Azriel had gotten a promotion; got his own legion of Shadowsingers. Over these last few years he’s worked on rebuilding the society the Shadowsingers had created before they were destroyed.

They’ve created a safehouse for any Shadowsinger that wishes to enter, and they can stay there for as long as they wish. The new legions belong to the Night Court, but every Shadowsinger has a choice if they want to enter the Legions or not. Lilith is his second-in-command and taking care of his usual business today.

Saga shrieks as Cass grabs her around the waist and hoists her up into the air, turning her upside-down. Her wings flap uselessly for a moment before she manages to steady herself. She’s unusually stable for a three-year-old, something Cass and Azriel appreciate. Both of them remember how big menaces they were when they were younger.

Adopting Saga had been a kind of surprise for them. She’d tumbled into their lives; an Illyrian bastard, as well, thrown out of her mother’s life without care. Azriel had found her when he’d been walking his rounds in the camp and didn’t even hesitate before taking the crying child into his arms.

She’d been eight months old at the time. All baby fat and high-pitched screeches. When he’d brought her back, Cass had cooed at her and wrapped her in a blanket. Luckily, Elias had quickly taken a liking to her.

Speaking of the boy, he’d just plopped himself down in Azriel’s lap, a heavy book clutched in his hands. “Father, I don’t understand this passage,” he says, voice so quiet that the shadows have to fill him in, “Help me, please?”

“Of course,” Azriel answers, sitting up properly to take a look. Elias opens the book and points, already speaking. He’s young, and still so clever. He’s fifteen years old and always keeps himself surprisingly level-headed. At the same time, he is affectionate and so loving to Azriel and Cass to such a degree that others get a little uncomfortable around them sometimes.

As they go through the text, Elias unconsciously lets his shadows mingle with Azriel’s, twining them together. It is a feeling Azriel had to get used to, unfamiliar shadows that seemed to cling to his more times than not. He’d worked with it over the years, though, and now the voices of Elias’s shadows are almost part of his own. It’s allowed them to interact better than anyone else, but they make sure to not do it too much so that Cass and Saga don’t feel left out.

Azriel wraps his arms around Elias’s waist as he explains what the passage means, careful to word it properly. His son wants to be a politician. Go around the Courts and better the lives of lesser fae.

They’re interrupted by Saga stumbling her way over, swaying from side to side and generally falling more than walking. Elias’s face lights up when he sees her. “You’re doing so good, Sae,” he praises, closing the book and reaching out to ruffle her hair, “Keep going”

Cass comes close behind her, relaxed but muscles still ready to pounce if something too dangerous should happen. It’s a habit Azriel has never gotten him to quit. He throws Azriel a smile over their children’s heads; a smile he always wears whenever Azriel has one of the Little Ones in his lap.

Elias stands up from Azriel’s lap to look over Cass’s shoulder. Saga sticks herself to Azriel’s side, hiding her face in his neck. “Ah, new kids arrived?” Azriel asks Cass as he lifts her further into his lap and rubs at her back. She’s always been the clingy type. Cass nods, throwing himself down next to them.

“Go play,” he tells Elias, “Come back by night-time”

Elias nods, almost absentmindedly, and leaves, shoving his hands in his pockets. Some of his shadows linger by Azriel’s side, though. “He’s coming out of his shell,” Cass comments, smiling. It’s true. Before, he hadn’t even wanted to leave without Azriel’s shadows around his wrists or he hadn’t wanted to leave at all. Now, he doesn’t even hesitate before high-fiving one of the other boys.

Saga rubs her cheek over Azriel’s collarbone, clutching his shirt tightly. “Make it go dark,” she demands, voice coming out stubborn. Azriel sends a glance to Cass, arching an eyebrow. Cass shrugs, reaching out to rub at the back of her neck. Saga sighs when Azriel sends his shadows in a wrap around her and washes out the many sounds around them. She gets like this sometimes. Overstimulated by her senses. So Azriel has to do his best to calm her in his own way.

Azriel catches sight of Rhys, Lucien and Feyre on the streets of Velaris, swinging Micken by the hands between them. Emill is sitting on Rhys’s shoulders and shouting down to Ameria, who is trailing her mother hesitantly. They’d had quite a job on their hands, Lucien, Feyre and Rhys, when the twins had followed twelve months after Emill, and the three of them had constantly ran around the Town House screaming at the top of their lungs.

Emill turns to look at Azriel, smiling and waving. Azriel waves back. He’s always been sweet on the kid. Had cried the first time Emill had called him “Uncle Azzy”. Emill’s attention gets snatched by Lucien coming up behind him, lifting him off Rhys’s shoulders.

Cass reaches out and brushes a stray lock behind Azriel’s ear. Azriel leans into the touch unconsciously. Cass plays with the edges of his hair for a short while, before slipping his hand down to tickle Saga’s neck. She giggles softly, her breath cold over Azriel’s skin.

Azriel hears a soft mewl from behind him and feels Daeva’s soft fur brush up against his back. Daeva’s getting old now…and fat. Both Elias and Saga spoil him too much, giving him treats every other hour. Daeva seems content, though, so Azriel is as well.

“I think we should go somewhere this weekend,” Cass murmurs, letting Saga bat his hand away. “Just the two of us or the kids too?” Azriel asks, careful to drown out their voices in the shadows. Saga has a tendency to cry when she knows that she’ll be away from them over a longer time.

“Just us,” Cass answers, laying his hand on Saga’s back, “We haven’t had a break in ages”

That is true. Between small skirmishes, reports to fill out and watching over the children, they’ve barely had time for each other. Haven’t had time to slip away in dark corners and kiss each other silly. No time to tumble in the morning sheets for hours.

“We’ll make Lorelai or Nik watch the kids,” Azriel says, “Saga likes them”

“You mean, she doesn’t break into tears the moment we put her in their hands,” Cass laughs and picks Saga from his hands, signalling that the conversation is over. Azriel will contact Nik when they’ve put the children to bed tonight.

Cass starts bouncing Saga on his knees, cooing and speaking to her in silly voices. Azriel throws himself on his stomach and lays one hand on Cass’s hip, one hand on Saga’s back. He starts talking along with Cass, smiling when Saga laughs uncontrollably.

Saga stretches and tenses her wings, tremors following her laughter. “Yes, like that,” Cass says, immediately serious and encouraging, “Keep moving them like that; just like that”

Saga nods, eyes shining. She beats her wings harder and Azriel feels wind over his face as she gains power. “Careful not to strain them too much,” Azriel comments and flaps his wings a few times to demonstrate, “You have to beat them slower, or you’ll exhaust yourself”

She takes his advice and she squeals in delight when she gains a small altitude, lifting off Cass’s knees. Her eyes whip back and forth between the two of them, searching for approval and pride. Cass and Azriel are sure to deliver her both. She doesn’t need to know that it’s mostly Cass holding her up.

Elias’s shadow pulses against his wrist for a small moment before falling silent again. Azriel lets them touch to his mind; Elias has already calmed down, but there was a moment of panic there and Elias still needs to know that Azriel listens to his shadows. _Thank you,_ is the first thing Elias says, sounding relieved.   _Even just said something that had me…worried for a moment; it is fine now_.

_I’m glad you reached out_ , Azriel ends the conversation, sending a tender feeling with the leaving shadows. Azriel leans closer and bumps his head against Cass’s side, settling there. Cass places Saga on his thighs again and the little girl starts tipping herself into different directions, practising her balance. Cass loosens his hold on her to help.

Azriel keeps watching them, smiling softly and sometimes holding a hand out for either Cass or Saga to grab onto. At one point, Daeva jumps up on his shoulder to settle there; he’s never realized that he may be getting too big for these things. The sun warms his skin, makes him feel pliable and sleepy. His eyes start drooping and he snuggles into Cass’s warmth intently.

“Papa, look, dad’s getting tired,” Saga whispers, and she leans forward to pat at his hair. “We need to put him to bed,” Cass responds, fully aware that Azriel is awake, “Do you think you’re strong enough to carry him?”

“Yes,” Saga says loudly, sounding too proud for not having proved anything yet. There’s a sharp tug at Azriel’s arm as Saga scrambles off Cass’s lap and tries to lift him up on her own. His head slides further down on Cass’s side as she tries to tug him up. A frustrated grunt comes from her.

“Okay, darling, how about this?” Cass finally interrupts, voice mild with laughter, “You can help me lift him onto my shoulder, and you can help hold up his head, yeah?”

Saga seems disappointed, but a noise of agreement comes from her. “But I carry him back next time?” she asks, hopeful. “Deal,” Cass says, fiercely, as if he and Saga are agreeing to a sparring match. Saga giggles.

Cass stands up, taking Azriel with him, but stops halfway, feigning struggle. “Oh, you’ll need to help me get him up,” he says with fake strain in his voice. Saga clambers onto his other shoulder and starts dragging Azriel’s body upwards. Cass is shaking with silent laughter.

Azriel nearly scrunches his nose when his face bumps against Cass’s shoulder but manages to keep neutral. “He’s heavy,” Saga complains, and Azriel can barely suppress a snort. “Don’t say such things about your father,” Cass scolds in a fake-whisper, “Especially when he’s _right there_ ”

Saga is silent for a moment, where she manages to misplace her hand and yank harshly at Azriel’s hair. “He is _heavy_ right there, though,” she fake-whispers back. Cass stands up, grunting faintly as he does. Azriel immediately feels slight guilt at making Cass carry both him and Saga back to the house but Cass noises no protest, so he lets it be.

Saga takes her job very seriously, holding onto Azriel tightly and determinedly. She even places a soft kiss on his brow. Azriel can’t help but smile at it. He sighs contently when they tip him into the bed and lays still as Cass ushers Saga out of the room to put her to bed.

Cass comes back thirty minutes later, unbuttoning his shirt. “Was she stubborn today?” Azriel teases more than asks. Cass nods with a sigh, padding over to the dresser. “You could’ve pretended to wake up, you know,” Cass playfully growls, “And saved me from having to carry you _all the fucking way here_ ”

“You love it when you get to carry us,” Azriel reasons, laying his pillow over his head. Cass only hums in reply. When he comes to bed, he does it by throwing himself onto Azriel’s body and snuggling over it. Azriel half-laughs-half-groans at Cass’s weight pressing him down into the mattress.

“You’re a giant pain in the ass sometimes,” Azriel comments, trying to make himself comfortable in Cass’s embrace. “Yes, but you love me anyway,” Cass responds, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Ah, debatable,” Azriel teases, before receiving tickles to his sides for the remark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are finished. I felt like I needed some proper closure; to let everyone have a happy and fulfilling ending.  
> Thank you for being on this journey with me.  
> If you enjoyed this fanfiction, I would like it if you left a comment and showed such appreciation.   
> Have a good day, darlings!


End file.
